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JOHN    FORSYTH'S    AUNTS 


Previous  Books 
by  Eliza  Orne  White 

Miss  Brooks 

A  Lover  of  Truth 

A  Browning  Courtship  and 

Other  Stories 
The  Coming  of  Theodora 
Winterborough 
A  Little  Girl  of  Long  Ago 
When  Molly  Was  Six 
Edna  and  Her  Brothers 


JOHN 
FORSrTH'S 


BY 


ELIZA  ORNE  WHITE 


New  York:    McClure,   Phillips 

§§f  Company 

Mcmi 


Copyright,  1901,  by 
McCLURE,   PHILLIPS  &  CO. 


FIRST  IMPRESSION,  OCTOBER,  1901 
SECOND  IMPRESSION,  NOVEMBER,  1901 


tt/ff.tff 


CONTENTS. 


I.  JOHN   FORSYTH'S  AUNTS 3 

II.   THE  CONVERSION  OF  Miss  DEBORAH   29 

III.  MR.  GRAY'S  RIVAL 53 

IV.  THE  NEWHALL  FARM 77 

V.  COWSLIP 93 

VI.  AN  OLD  LOVER 115 

VII.  A  NEIGHBORHOOD  ROMANCE 143 

VIII.  A  SUMMER  OUTING 179 

IX.  Miss  DEBORAH'S   GARDEN 199 

X.  A  STRUGGLE  FOR  INDEPENDENCE 217 

XI.  A  TASTE  OF  FREEDOM 247 


1763065 


JOHN   FORSYTH'S   AUNTS 


I 

JOHN  FORSYTH'S  AUNTS 

"  T  WISH  to  goodness  John  would  marry  again," 
A  said  his  aunt  Deborah,  as  she  began  to  clear 
off  the  breakfast-table.  "  He  needs  a  wife  to 
keep  him  in  order  and  look  after  the  twins.  Lily," 
as. a  fair-haired  little  girl  appeared  at  the  window, 
"  go  and  put  on  your  rubbers — there  was  a  heavy 
dew  last  night — and  tell  Jack  that  he  mustn't  go 
off  the  place.  Those  children  are  enough  to  try  the 
patience  of  a  saint,  and  as  for  their  father,  it's  the 
third  time  he's  been  late  to  breakfast.  I  am  sure 
Bridget  will  give  warning  soon." 

"  If  you  will  keep  his  breakfast  warm  for  him  he'll 
be  late  every  morning,"  said  her  sister  Letitia. 
"  You  and  Lucy  spoil  him." 

"  It  is  the  matter-of-course  way  he  takes  what  we 
do  for  him  that  tries  my  soul,"  Miss  Deborah  con- 
tinued. "  I  believe  he  thinks  it  is  the  joy  of  our  lives 
to  have  a  man  upsetting  all  our  ways  and  two  chil- 
dren scattering  their  playthings  like  the  morning 

3 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


dew  all  over  our  parlor,  and  I  am  sure  John  feels 
he's  doing  me  a  favor  every  time  he  brings  me  a  but- 
ton to  sew  on.  I  don't  wonder  five  years  of  this 
kind  of  thing  killed  John's  poor  mother;  there  are 
three  of  us  and  they  have  only  been  here  a  week.  Of 
course  I  am  glad  to  have  them  here  for  the  summer, 
but  as  for  going  to  New  York  to  keep  house  for  him 
next  winter,  I  won't !  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  won't,"  said  Miss  Letitia ;  "  and 
Lucy  doesn't  know  any  more  about  house-keeping 
than  a  child  of  ten.  The  only  way  out  of  the  dif- 
ficulty is  for  him  to  marry  some  attractive  woman 
like  Laura  Macauley." 

"  Laura  Macauley !  "  cried  Miss  Deborah.  "  She 
isn't  in  the  least  domestic.  She  wastes  too  much 
time  under  her  sketching  umbrella.  Frances  Si- 
monds  would  make  him  a  far  better  wife;  she's  the 
salt  of  the  earth." 

"  The  salt  of  the  earth  often  crystallizes  in  ugly 
shapes,"  returned  Miss  Letitia.  "  I  grant  that  Fran- 
ces has  all  the  virtues,  but,  like  all  men,  John  is  sure 
to  have  his  fancy  taken  by  a  beautiful  face." 

"  I  should  fall  in  love  with  Esther  Norris,  if  I 
were  a  man,"  said  Lucy,  the  youngest  sister.  "  She 
is  so  pretty  and  fascinating,  and  she  would  be  de- 
voted to  the  twins." 

"  She  is  a  mere  child ;  she  isn't  more  than  eight- 
een. Lucy,  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  and  Miss  Deb- 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


orah  seized  her  sister's  cup  and  saucer  and  plunged 
them  into  the  dish-tub. 

"  Deborah,"  remonstrated  Lucy  mildly,  "  I  want- 
ed another  cup  of  coffee." 

"  Never  mind,  child.  One  is  as  much  as  is  good 
for  you.  I  have  a  brilliant  idea,"  she  added  present- 
ly;  "I'll  ask  Frances  here  to-night,  to  help  eat  your 
birthday  cake,  Lucy ;  that  will  give  John  a  chance  to 
meet  her  in  a  natural,  informal  way." 

"  Deborah !  "  expostulated  Miss  Letitia.  "  It 
would  look  so  pointed  to  ask  one  girl  alone.  Why 
not  ask  Laura  too?  Lucy  would  like  that  much 
better." 

"  If  you  really  want  to  please  me,  you'll  invite 
Esther  Norris,"  said  Lucy.  "  You  know  I  never  can 
get  on  with  Laura  Macauley,  and  after  all  it  is  my 
birthday  party,  not  John's." 

"  Oh,  well,  have  Esther  too,  if  you  want,  dear," 
said  Miss  Deborah,  kindly;  "she'll  help  amuse  the 
twins.  Of  course  we  must  not  give  John  the  least 
hint  of  our  plans,"  she  added. 

At  this  point  John  sauntered  into  the  room  and 
walked  up  to  his  aunt  Lucy. 

"  I've  been  told  that  somebody  has  a  birthday,"  he 
remarked,  as  he  slipped  a  little  package  into  her 
hand.  "  Is  it  twenty-five  you  are  this  time?  " 

"  Oh,  John,  how  I  wish  it  were!  " 

Miss  Lucy  had  the  golden  hair  and  slender  figure 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


that  suggest  youth,  and  they  made  her  faded  com- 
plexion seem  like  an  anachronism.  She  looked  like 
a  young  girl  who  had  gone  to  sleep  and  waked  to 
find  herself  a  middle-aged  woman.  Her  older  sis- 
ters had  dark  eyes  and  brown  hair  that  was  thickly 
streaked  with  gray.  There  was  a  strong  family  re- 
semblance between  them,  but  Miss  Letitia,  who  was 
the  handsomer  of  the  two  and  much  the  taller,  had 
a  stately  air,  as  if  she  felt  that  no  lot  was  superior 
to  her  own,  while  Miss  Deborah  never  seemed  to 
think  about  herself. 

"  I'm  sorry  to  be  late  to  breakfast  again,"  said 
John.  "  It  is  awfully  good  of  you  not  to  scold  me." 

"  I  hope  your  steak  isn't  done  too  much,"  said 
Miss  Deborah,  somewhat  disarmed  by  his  genial 
manner.  "  By  the  way,  John,"  she  added  casually, 
"you  mustn't  make  any  engagement  for  to-night, 
for  your  aunt  Lucy  will  be  so  disappointed  if  you 
are  not  here  to  eat  her  birthday  cake." 

"  All  right,  I'll  be  sure  to  be  on  hand." 

When  her  nephew  came  into  the  house  that  after- 
noon so  late  that  his  escape  seemed  impossible,  Miss 
Letitia  began  diplomatically : 

"  John,  we  felt  that  your  aunt  Lucy  needed  a  lit- 
tle diversion  on  her  birthday,  and  so  we  have  asked 
some  ladies  to  tea  to-night." 

"  Ladies !  Then  I  shan't  stay ;  why  didn't  you 
tell  me  before?" 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


"  There  are  only  three  of  them,"  Miss  Deborah 
hastened  to  add,  "  and  they  are  such  nice  girls." 

"Girls!  Worse  and  worse!  Ladies  are  bad 
enough,  but  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  ever  know  what  to 
say  to  a  parcel  of  girls.  I'll  go  and  take  tea  with 
Ned  Simonds." 

"  His  sister  Frances  is  to  be  here  to-night,"  said 
Miss  Deborah.  "  You  need  not  be  afraid  of  her,  she 
is  so  shy.  It  will  be  too  rude  of  you  to  go  off,  es- 
pecially as  Frances  is  coming  in  at  the  gate 
now." 

"  I  can  go  out  the  back  way,"  he  suggested,  but 
Miss  Lucy  caught  his  hand  as  he  passed  her.  "  You 
wouldn't  desert  your  old  aunt  on  her  birthday  I  am 
sure,  dear,"  she  said,  and  John,  who  was  very  fond 
of  his  aunt  Lucy,  yielded.  His  magnanimity  was 
not  sufficient,  however,  to  cause  him  to  be  polite  to 
her  guest. 

Frances  Simonds  looked  as  if,  to  be  in  complete 
harmony  with  the  general  scheme  of  nature,  she 
ought  to  have  been  a  middle-aged  woman  instead  of 
a  girl  of  twenty,  for  there  was  little  in  her  grave  ex- 
terior to  suggest  youth ;  but,  although  she  was  plain, 
her  face  was  not  uninteresting,  and  she  gave  the  im- 
pression of  having  a  great  deal  to  say,  if  only  she 
could  find  the  courage  to  say  it. 

"  I  have  often  heard  my  brother  speak  of  you,  Mr. 
Forsyth,"  she  began  in  a  low  voice. 


8  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Yes  ?  I  met  him  on  the  street  to-day ;  he  is  look- 
ing very  well." 

'  He  is  very  well — he  is  always  well — except," 
she  continued  with  nervous  conscientiousness,  "  that 
he  had  typhoid  fever  last  autumn  and  almost  died." 

This  was  such  a  preposterous  ending  to  her  sen- 
tence that  she  wanted  to-  laugh,  but  felt  too  keenly 
mortified. 

There  was  a  pause,  and  then  Frances  began  again, 
"  It  is  a  very  pleasant  day." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  I  prefer  summer  weather  in 
June." 

This  was  the  extent  of  their  conversation  for  the 
evening.  Frances  was  too  much  crushed  to  attempt 
to  renew  it. 

Happily  a  diversion  was  soon  caused  by  the 
arrival  of  Miss  Macauley.  She  was  a  handsome 
woman  of  thirty,  with  a  fine  figure,  and  a  quan- 
tity of  fair  hair  elaborately  dressed.  Her  lilac- 
and-white  foulard  silk  had  the  perfection  of  de- 
tail that  one  associates  with  a  fashion-plate. 
In  spite  of  himself,  John  was  soon  launched 
in  a  conversation  with  her,  or  to  speak  more 
accurately,  he  listened,  and  replied  occasionally 
in  monosyllables.  She  touched  with  easy  con- 
fidence upon  politics,  literature  and  art,  and  her 
talk  was  as  conventional  as  her  gown.  She  was  like 
a  hundred  other  well-bred  women  whom  John  had 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  9 

met,  and  although  they  were  never  stimulating,  they 
always  set  him  at  his  ease.  A  little  later  the  arrival 
of  Esther  Norris  made  a  breezy  interruption. 

"  How  kind  of  you  to  remember  my  birthday, 
dear  child,"  said  Miss  Lucy,  as  the  young  girl  gave 
her  a  bunch  of  blush  roses.  "  I  love  these  roses  bet- 
ter than  any  flowers  in  the  world,  but  you  must  keep 
some  of  them,  dearest,"  and  she  fastened  two  into 
Esther's  bodice.  "  They  just  match  your  pink  rib- 
bons, although  they  are  not  so  bright  as  your 
cheeks." 

"  I  had  no  idea  I  was  so  late,"  said  Esther,  catch- 
ing a  look  of  disapproval  on  Miss  Deborah's  face, 
and  glancing  hastily  at  the  clock.  "  I  stopped  to 
make  friends  with  the  twins." 

"  I  am  depending  upon  seeing  the  twins,"  said 
Miss  Macauley.  "  I  am  very  fond  of  children. 
Here  they  are  at  the  window,  now.  Do  come  in, 
clears,  and  see  me." 

"Children,  what  have  you  been  doing?"  cried 
Miss  Deborah,  as  the  two  promptly  accepted  this  in- 
vitation, unabashed  by  their  disheveled  appearance. 

"  Watering  the  rose-bushes,"  Jack  replied. 

"  Watering  the  rose-bushes !  Watering  your- 
selves I  should  say.  Who  would  believe  I  dressed 
you  in  clean  clothes  half  an  hour  ago?  Don't  you 
remember  I  told  you  never  to  touch  the  hose?  " 

"  We've  had  a  fine  time  rolling  down  the  bank," 


io  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

said  Jack,  wisely  ignoring  this  question.  "  Did  you 
ever  roll  down  a  bank?  "  he  asked  Miss  Macauley  in 
engaging  tones,  as  she  begged  a  kiss  from  him. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  I  ever  did." 

"  I  have,"  said  Esther.  "  Ever  so  many  times. 
It's  great  fun." 

"  I  say,  Aunt  Deborah,"  Jack  added,  emboldened 
by  the  interest  these  young  ladies  were  taking  in 
him,  "  can't  Lily  and  I  come  in  to  tea  ?  " 

"  No,  you  can't." 

"  We'll  be  very  good.  Please,  please  let  us. 
There's  going  to  be  lobster  salad,  and  strawberries, 
and  pine-apple  ice-cream,"  he  confided  to  Miss  Mac- 
auley, "  and  Aunt  Lucy's  birthday  cake,  with  wal- 
nuts in  it  and  a  frosting.  She  isn't  going  to  have 
any  candles  because  she's  so  old  it  would  make  too 
many.  Lily  and  I  don't  think  a  birthday  cake  is  any 
fun  without  candles,  and  we  are  going  to  have  can- 
dles if  we  live  to  be  a  hundred.  We  are  seven  now," 
he  stated,  as  he  took  Miss  Macauley's  lilac  ribbons  in 
his  grimy  little  hands.  "  How  old  are  you?  " 

"  Children,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  "  you  can  go 
now.  You  talk  altogether  too  much." 

After  their  guests'  departure,  as  Miss  Deborah 
was  putting  out  the  two  extra  gas-burners  that  had 
been  lighted  in  their  honor,  she  took  John  to  task 
for  not  talking  enough. 

"  You  were  all  chattering  so  fast  that  you  did  not 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  n 

give  me  any  chance,"  he  returned,  "  and  I  felt  as  if 
my  son  had  talked  enough  to  keep  up  the  credit  of 
the  family." 

"  We  have  overdone  matters  in  our  desire  to  leave 
everything  to  time  and  John,"  said  Miss  Letitia,  a 
month  later.  "  It  is  evident  that  he  hasn't  the  faint- 
est idea  of  devoting  himself  seriously  to  any  girl, 
and  yet  he  goes  sketching  with  Laura  so  often  that 
Mrs.  Simonds  asked  me  to-day  if  it  were  true  that  he 
was  engaged  to  her.  How  I  wish  it  were !  He  likes 
her  immensely.  I  am  so  glad  I  started  that  reading- 
club!  He  told  me  he  had  never  heard  any  woman 
read  aloud  so  well." 

"  He  has  grown  very  fond  of  Frances,"  Miss 
Deborah  affirmed.  "  He  said  to  me  the  other  day 
that  she  was  the  kind  of  woman  in  whom  he  had  en- 
tire confidence,  and  he  thought  it  was  so  kind  of  her 
to  help  me  make  those  little  gowns  and  aprons  for 
Lily." 

"  He  told  me  that  Esther  was  the  prettiest  girl  he 
had  ever  seen,"  said  Lucy,  "  and  the  twins  are  so 
fond  of  her." 

"  They  are  all  nice  girls,"  Miss  Letitia  admitted. 
"  but  I  can't  help  feeling  that  Laura  is  especially  well 
suited  to  him.  Although  I  shrink  from  it,  I  am  sure 
it  is  my  duty  to  give  him  a  hint  on  the  subject." 

"  If  you  are  going  to  speak  to  him  I  certainly 
shall,"  Miss  Deborah  announced,  "  for  you  will  say 


12  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

everything  you  can  to  prejudice  him  in  favor  of 
Laura." 

When  John  went  into  the  library  that  afternoon  to 
write  some  letters  he  found  his  aunt  Letitia  there, 
occupied  as  usual  with  a  book. 

"  John,"  she  began  affably,  "  I  was  just  wonder- 
ing if  I  could  not  persuade  you  to  make  some  calls 
with  me." 

"  I  am  afraid  you  can't.  Making  calls  is  not  in 
my  line.  I  always  say  the  wrong  thing." 

"You  never  do  yourself  justice;  only  yesterday, 
someone — who  was  it?  oh,  yes,  Laura  Macauley — 
said  you  were  so  interesting.  She  finds  us  very  quiet 
here,  she  is  in  New  York  so  much  in  the  winter. 
She  is  a  girl  calculated  to  shine  in  the  best  society. 
Don't  you  think  so?  " 

"  Yes." 

This  admission  encouraged  Miss  Letitia  to  pro- 
ceed, and  she  led  up  to  the  desired  point  by  such 
gradual  approaches  that  her  nephew  had  not  the 
faintest  idea  what  was  coming.  She  ended  by  say- 
ing that  if  she  wanted  a  companion  she  should 
choose  Laura  Macauley. 

"  Yes?  "  he  said,  politely. 

"  John,  you  are  very  stupid.  I  shall  have  to  tell 
you  in  plain  language  that  you  are  reported  to  be 
engaged  to  her,  and  that  nothing  would  make  me 
happier— 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  13 

"  I,  engaged  to  her !  " 

"  But,  John,  you  always  have  more  to  say  to  her 
than  to  any  other  girl,  and  you  were  so  delighted 
with  the  way  she  read  Barrie.  I  thought  you  liked 
her." 

John  laughed  in  spite  of  his  vexation. 

"  I  like  her  well  enough,  but  you  can  hardly  ex- 
pect me  to  marry  a  woman  because  she  reads  Barrie 
well  and  is  an  inveterate  talker.  I  hope  Miss  Macau- 
ley  won't  get  wind  of  this  ridiculous  rumor,  for  it 
would  annoy  her  exceedingly,"  and  he  stalked  out  of 
the  room  and  took  refuge  in  the  parlor,  where  his 
aunt  Lucy  was  lying  on  the  sofa. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  dear?  "  she  asked.  "  You 
look  vexed." 

"  I  am  vexed.  What  fools  women  are !  It  seems 
that  some  idiot  has  started  the  report  of  my  engage- 
ment to  Miss  Macauley !  " 

"  How  absurd !  "  his  aunt  exclaimed  sympathetic- 
ally, "  of  course  you  could  never  fancy  her."  She 
paused,  and  then  went  on  nervously,  "  but  I  must 
say,  dear,  that  I  wish  you  could  love  some " 

"  Aunt  Lucy,"  he  broke  in,  "  I  thought  you  knew 
me  too  well  to  imagine  that  I  could  ever  care  enough 
for  any  woman  to  marry  again." 

"  I  know  how  devotedly  you  loved  Emily,  but  I 
am  sure  it  would  be  much  better  for  your  children, 
and  that  you  would  be  far  happier  yourself,  if  you 


14  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

had  a  companion,  a  charming  woman,  to  share  your 
life." 

"  I  have  been  thinking  so  too,  dear  Aunt  Lucy, 
and  I  hope  to  persuade  you  to  come  and  brighten  up 
our  home  for  us  when  we  go  back  to  New  York." 

"  I  am  too  old  and  too  dull  a  woman,  John  dear. 
You  are  so  alone,  now  your  mother  has  gone, 
and  you  are  still  so  young — you  need  the  influence 
of  some  bright " 

"  Aunt  Lucy,  I  shall  never  marry  again.  I  tell 
you  so  once  for  all.  And  unless  you  promise  to 
come  to  New  York  with  me  this  autumn  I  shall  com- 
mit suicide.  Will  you  promise  ?" 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  promise,"  she  said 
with  a  faint  laugh. 

John  thought  it  best  to  make  his  escape  at  this 
juncture,  and  it  occurred  to  him  that  the  house  of  his 
friend,  Ned  Simonds,  would  be  a  pleasant  refuge. 
Even  the  most  inveterate  of  gossips  could  not  report 
his  engagement  to  Frances.  John  met  his  aunt 
Deborah  as  he  was  going  out  of  the  door. 

"  I  have  been  wanting  a  chance  all  day  to  have  a 
little  talk  with  you,"  she  said.  "  Where  are  you  go- 
ing now  ?  " 

"  To  take  tea  with  Ned  Simonds." 

"  I'll  walk  part  way  with  you.  I  am  always  glad 
to  have  you  go  there.  Frances  is  such  a  nice  girl, 
with  no  nonsense  about  her." 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  15 

John  assented  heartily. 

"  John,  we  all  think  you  ought  to  marry  again," 
Miss  Deborah  began  with  her  usual  bluntness. 
"  Don't  be  influenced  by  what  Letitia  and  Lucy  say. 
I  am  sure  you  will  agree  with  me  in  thinking  that 
Frances  Simonds  will  make  you  a  good,  practical 
wife." 

"  Good  heavens!  Aunt  Deborah!  You  all  speak 
as  if  I  had  only  to  offer  myself  to  any  woman  to  be 
accepted.  I  am  not  the  kind  of  man  to  make  an  im- 
pression on  a  young  girl." 

"  I  know  that,  but  Frances  isn't  like  most  girls. 
She  would  not  mind  your  blunt  ways." 

"  Indeed,"  said  John  shortly,  not  over- well  pleased 
to  have  his  opinion  of  himself  corroborated. 

"  Frances  would  be  devoted  to  Lily  and  Jack," 
Miss  Deborah  continued,  "  and  she  is  very  bright  al- 
though she  is  so  shy.  She  has  learned  a  great  deal 
about  illness  from  her  father,  in  fact  her  mother 
says  she  means  to  be  a  trained  nurse  when  she  is  old 
enough,  but  a  happy  marriage " 

"  Aunt  Deborah,  you  will  drive  me  crazy  between 
you.  You  have  spoiled  all  my  pleasure  here.  I  shall 
go  away  to-morrow,  and  I  sha'n't  come  back  until  it 
is  time  to  take  the  children  home  in  the  autumn,  un- 
less you  promise  not  to  say  one  word  more  to  me  on 
the  subject,  and  to  tell  every  man,  woman  and  child 
in  Eppingham  that  you  know,  for  a  positive  fact, 


16  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

I  shall  never  be  engaged  to  anybody !    By  the  way, 

Aunt  Lucy  has  agreed  to  keep  house  for  me  next 

winter." 

"  Lucy  ?    That  is  preposterous !    She  is  much  too 

delicate,  and  she  does  not  know    anything    about 

house-keeping." 

"  She  knows  quite  enough  to  satisfy  me." 

The  next  morning  John  went  to  Mt.   Desert, 

where  he  stayed  until  he  was  summoned  home  by 

the  following  telegram: 

"  Jack  broke  leg  falling  from  hay-cart.  Improv- 
ing. Wants  you." 

It  was  a  cold  August  evening  when  John  arrived, 
and  after  giving  his  aunts  a  hasty  greeting  he  rushed 
up  to  the  nursery,  pausing  before  the  open  door,  for 
he  heard  an  unfamiliar  voice. 

A  wood-fire  was  crackling  on  the  hearth,  throw- 
ing its  flickering  light  on  Jack's  subdued  face,  as 
he  lay  in  bed,  and  on  Lily,  who  was  sitting  on  the 
hearth-rug  with  her  arms  around  Esther  Norris. 
John  had  never  seen  a  more  charming  contrast  than 
his  fair-haired  little  daughter  and  Esther  with  her 
brilliant  coloring  and  dark  hair  and  eyes.  She  was 
telling  the  children  a  fairy  tale,  and  it  was  of  absorb- 
ing interest,  judging  by  the  expression  of  breathless 
attention  on  their  faces. 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  17 

"  Why,  there's  father,"  Jack  called  out. 

"  Good-evening,  Mr.  Forsyth,"  said  Esther,  rising 
hastily.  "  I  am  glad  to  see  you  back  again.  I  must 
go  now,  children." 

"  Oh,  please,  please  stay  and  finish  the  story," 
Jack  entreated,  "  or  we  shall  wish  father  hadn't 
come  home." 

"  We  are  glad  he  has  come,"  said  Lily  with 
the  tact  of  her  sex,  as  she  gave  her  father  one  of  her 
tempestuous  hugs.  "  But  we  do  want  the  rest  of  the 
story.  Father  would  like  it  so  much  too.  It  is  about 
a  little  boy  and  a  little  girl,  father,  who  were  turned 
into  statues  by  a  hateful  old  witch,  and  just  as  you 
came  in  a  prince  was  coming  along,  and  we  are  crazy 
to  know  what  happened  next." 

"  Do  tell  us  what  happened  next,  Miss  Norris.  I 
shall  be  very  sorry  if  I  drive  you  away." 

"  I  must  go,  for  it  is  getting  late." 

John  had  a  momentary  pang,  for  the  three  had 
looked  so  happy  before  they  had  caught  sight  of  him, 
and  now  a  slight  frost  seemed  to  have  touched  them 
all. 

"  Won't  you  let  father  come  to  the  tea-party  to- 
morrow? "  Lily  begged,  as  Esther  kissed  her  good- 
night. 

"  It  is  to  be  strictly  a  children's  party,  with  only 
you  and  Jack,  and  your  aunt  Lucy  and  me.  I  am 
afraid  your  father  is  too  old." 


i8  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  I  am  not  so  old  as  aunt  Lucy." 

"  You  are  a  great  deal  older  as  we  count  age." 

"  I  will  be  so  good.  I  am  a  much  better  example 
to  youth  than  aunt  Lucy  is." 

"  That  is  just  the  trouble.  You  will  behave  alto- 
gether too  well.  If  we  let  you  come  will  you  prom- 
ise to  tell  us  stories,  and  cut  out  paper  soldiers  for 
us,  and  drink  lemonade  out  of  a  doll's  tumbler?" 

"  I  will  promise  anything,  if  you  will  only  let  me 
come." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  a  series  of  enchanted 
days,  that  made  John  feel  as  if  he  had  gone  back  to 
the  time  when  he  was  a  happy,  improvident  boy. 
Esther's  eighteen  years  put  such  a  barrier  of  youth 
between  them  that  he  enjoyed  being  with  her  as 
frankly  and  simply  as  if  she  were  one  of  his  children, 
while  on  her  side  the  eager  girl,  who  longed  to  see 
the  world,  felt  the  charm  of  the  older  man,  who  had 
had  a  varied  experience  in  many  lands. 

When  Jack  was  well  enough  to  go  out  of  doors 
once  more,  his  convalescence  was  celebrated  by 
drives,  picnics,  and  rows  on  the  river  that  wound 
lazily  in  and  out  under  overhanging  boughs.  It  did 
not  matter  to  John  where  they  went,  or  how  many 
others  shared  Esther,  if  only  she  gave  the  party  the 
life  and  charm  of  her  presence. 

At  last  the  time  came  when  John  had  to  set  the 
day  for  going  home.  His  aunt  Lucy  had  not  ob- 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  19 

tained  without  a  struggle  the  consent  of  her  sisters 
to  keep  house  for  him,  but  John  had  a  peremptory 
way  of  settling  things,  and  had  overruled  all  their 
objections  by  remarking  that  he  wanted  his  aunt 
Lucy,  and  he  intended  to  have  her ;  that  was  the  long 
and  the  short  of  the  matter.  Her  own  feelings  were 
mixed.  She  dreaded  the  responsibility,  she  who  had 
hitherto  been  shielded  from  every  care,  and  yet  she 
exulted  in  the  prospect  of  having  a  chance  at  last  to 
lead  her  own  life.  And  it  made  her  happy  to  think 
that  John  wanted  her. 

The  children  were  very  unhappy  at  the  idea  of 
parting  from  Esther,  and  Jack  suggested  that  per- 
haps she  would  go  back  with  them  to  be  their  gov- 
erness. 

"  My  dear  child,  it  would  never  do.  She  does  not 
know  enough  to  teach,"  said  Miss  Letitia,  whose 
standard  was  high. 

"  Oh,  I  guess  she'd  know  enough  to  teach  us," 
Jack  remarked.  "  She's  got  to  do  something  now 
her  father  has  lost  his  money.  She  told  us  so." 

"  And  they  are  going  to  move  into  a  smaller 
house,"  said  Lily.  "  I  don't  believe  there  would  be 
room  for  her  at  home." 

"  She  is  altogether  too  young,"  said  Miss  Deb- 
orah. 

Their  aunt  Lucy  thought  it  a  delightful  plan, 
and  so  did  their  father,  and  when  he  approved  a 


2o  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

plan  it  was  apt  to  be  carried  out  at  once.  He  and 
the  twins  went  over  to  the  Norrises  in  fine  spirits, 
that  very  afternoon,  to  see  Esther. 

She  was  alone  in  the  old-fashioned  parlor,  which 
was  a  melancholy  travesty  of  its  former  self,  for  the 
carpet  was  up,  and  a  packing-box  half-full  of  books 
was  standing  on  the  floor. 

"  Good-afternoon,"  she  said.  "  I  can't  shake 
hands  with  you.  Mine  are  so  dusty.  It  is  a  judg- 
ment on  me  for  not  taking  better  care  of  the  books 
when  they  were  on  the  shelves." 

"  Miss  Esther,  you  don't  know  how  sorry  I  was  to 
hear  of  your  father's  losses,"  John  began,  "  but  I  am 
hoping  that  a  great  happiness  may  come  to  me  and 
my  children  in  consequence.  I  have  come  to  ask  if 
you  will  not  be  their  governess,  and  go  back  with 
them  and  aunt  Lucy  and  me  next  week." 

Esther  was  silent,  and  he  proceeded  to  unfold  his 
plan  at  greater  length.  It  was  so  advantageous  to 
her  that  he  had  not  once  thought  of  her  refusal. 

When  he  stopped  speaking  she  said,  "You  are 
very  kind,  Mr.  Forsyth,  but  I  cannot  possibly  take 
the  position." 

"  Why  Miss  Esther,"  protested  Jack,  "  you  told 
us  you  hated  to  think  you  might  not  see  us  again  for 
ever  so  long,  and  you  said  you  thought  it  would  be 
horrid  to  travel  with  that 'old  lady  who  wants  you  to 
go  to  California." 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  21 

"  I  know,  but  I  have  almost  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  with  her." 

"  And  you  seriously  mean  that  you  would  prefer 
this  to  teaching  children  who  are  devotedly  attached 
to  you  ?  "  John  asked. 

"  Yes,  I  mean  it." 

She  had  paused  before  she  answered.  Her  back 
was  turned  towards  John,  as  she  stooped  to  put  a 
book  into  the  packing-box. 

"  It  is  very  rude  of  me,  I  know,  to  go  on  with  my 
work,"  she  observed. 

"  I  wish  you  would  stop  just  a  minute  and  sit  here 
quietly  where  I  can  look  into  your  face.  Miss  Es- 
ther, you  must  come  with  us.  We  can't  any  of  us 
get  on  without  you." 

Her  unexpected  opposition  only  made  him  the 
more  eager  to  carry  out  his  purpose. 

"  I  am  not  used  to  having  my  wishes  thwarted," 
he  added. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  have  to  try  that  discipline 
for  once." 

"  Give  me  one  good  reason  and  I  will  be  satisfied. 
Or  rather  I  will  prove  it  is  no  reason.  You  are  very 
fond  of  Aunt  Lucy  and  the  children,  so  the  trouble 
must  be  with  me.  You  think  I  haven't  a  good  tem- 
per, and  that  is  true,  but  I  do  not  know  why  you 
should  fear  it,  for  I  could  not  be  angry  with  you. 
I  suppose  you  feel  that  it  would  be  too  quiet  for  you 


22  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

in  a  house  where  there  are  only  older  people  and 
children,  but  we  would  give  you  a  great  deal  of  free- 
dom." 

"  Please  do  not  urge  me,"  she  entreated.  "  I 
know  I  am  doing  right." 

"  I  wish  I  knew  what  your  morbid  scruple  was.  I 
believe  it  is  some  quirk  of  your  New  England  con- 
science. Come,  tell  me,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  so.  I  would  rather  travel,"  she  as- 
serted hastily. 

"  You  would  rather  travel.  You  shall  travel  all 
you  like.  I  am  thinking  of  taking  Aunt  Lucy  and 
the  children  abroad  next  summer,"  he  said,  boldly, 
improvising  this  scheme  on  the  spur  of  the  moment. 

"  Please  do  not  say  any  more  about  it,"  Esther 
begged.  "  I  have  made  up  my  mind  not  to  go  to 
you,  and  I  shall  not  change." 

"  Very  well,  as  you  like,"  John  returned  coldly. 

He  had  never  felt  such  bitter  disappointment,  or 
so  humiliating  a  sense  of  impotence. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Esther,"  said  Lily,  "  it  will  be  terrible 
to  say  good-by  to  you ;  it  will  be  worse  than  parting 
from  the  Simondses'  yellow  kitten." 

A  few  minutes  after  their  departure  Miss  Lucy 
softly  entered  the  Norrises'  parlor  to  see  if  she 
could  not  make  Esther  change  her  purpose.  Esther 
was  sitting  on  the  floor  with  one  arm  resting  on  the 
packing-box,  and  her  face  buried  in  her  hands. 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  23 

"  My  dear  child,  what  is  the  matter?  "  Miss  Lucy 
asked. 

"  Nothing — of  any  consequence,"  she  answered 
with  a  little  sob.  "  I  was  feeling  blue  at  the  idea  of 
leaving  home,  that  is  all." 

"  My  dear,  as  you  have  to  leave  home,  why  can't 
you  go  to  New  York  with  us?  " 

Esther  turned  her  head  away  quickly,  but  Miss 
Lucy  saw  the  tell-tale  color  mounting  into  her  face. 
Then  she  knew  the  reason,  and  Esther  knew  that  she 
knew  it,  but  they  both  pretended  that  they  did  not 
know. 

Miss  Lucy  went  up  to  the  girl  and  drew  her  to- 
wards her,  kissing  her  gently.  "  Dear,"  she  said, 
"  of  course  it  would  be  dull  for  you  to  be  with 
us." 

"  You  will  tell  Mr.  Forsyth  that  you  think  it 
would  be  dull  for  me?  "  Esther  begged  with  a  little 
break  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  will  tell  him.  He  is  a  great  deal 
older  than  you  are,"  she  added,  as  she  kissed  Esther 
again,  "  and  yet  I  used  to  hope — but  he  is  one  of 
those  rare  men  who,  having  loved  once,  never  can 
love  again." 

"  Well,  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  John,  as  he  looked  up 
from  a  book  he  had  been  making  a  pretence  of  read- 
ing, "  what  success  did  you  have?  " 


24  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  None,  John,  but  I  see  her  point  of  view  now, 
and  I  think  she  is  right.  She  is  a  young  girl,  and 
she  needs  young  society,  and  then — this  is  my  point 
of  view,  not  hers — she  ought  to  be  where  she  has  a 
chance  to  meet  men  who  might  fall  in  love  with 
her." 

"  Men  who  might  fall  in  love  with  her!  "  cried 
John.  The  mere  idea  filled  him  with  torturing 
jealousy. 

"  Yes,  I  used  to  hope  you  might,"  Miss  Lucy  con- 
fessed, "  but  when  you  told  me  how  impossible  it 
was  for  you  ever  to  care  for  any  woman " 

"  Aunt  Lucy,"  said  John,  breathlessly,  "  do  you 
mean  you  think  it  possible — that — that  she  could 
care  for  me?  " 

"  How  can  I  tell,  dear?  I  should  say  you  were 
a  great  deal  too  quiet  to  suit  her,  but  one  never 
knows  what  is  going  on  in  a  girl's  mind.  There  is 
about  as  much  probability  that  she  refused  to  go 
back  with  you  because  she  was  afraid  she  might 
grow  to  like  you  too  well,  as  because  she  was  afraid 
of  not  liking  you  well  enough." 

Some  days  later  Lucy  Wyatt  had  the  satisfaction 
of  announcing  to  her  sisters  John's  engagement  to 
Esther  Norris. 

"  I  am  simply  electrified  by  this  news,"  Miss  Deb- 
orah exclaimed.  "  That  is  all  the  reliance  that  can 
be  placed  on  your  solemn  statement,  Lucy,  that  John 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts  25 

could  never  care  enough  for  any  woman  to  marry 
fcgain." 

"  Well,  don't  annihilate  me,  dear;  I  was  only  re- 
peating what  he  said." 

"  Since  he  has  the  capacity  for  caring,  I  wish  to 
goodness  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  a  sensible  girl 
like  Frances  Simonds,  she  would  have  made  him  a 
far  better  wife;  but  men  are  all  alike,  they  prefer  a 
pretty  face  to  all  the  virtues." 

"  That  is  just  what  I  told  you  in  the  beginning," 
said  Miss  Letitia. 


THE    CONVERSION    OF    MISS 
DEBORAH 


II 


THE  CONVERSION  OF  MISS 
DEBORAH 

EVERY  one  in  Eppingham  was  astonished  when 
the  Wyatts  set  up  a  pet  kitten,  but  no  one  was 
half  so  much  surprised  as  they  were  them- 
selves.    Miss  Letitia  and  Miss  Deborah,  who  had 
always  scorned  other  people's  pets,  had  never  in- 
tended to  have  a  cat,  but  as  is  the  case  sometimes 
with  greatness,  it  had  been  thrust  upon  them.    Miss 
Lucy,  on  the  contrary,  had  always  longed  for  one, 
but  she  was  so  much  younger  than  her  sisters,  that 
her  wishes  were  not  considered  of  any  importance. 
The  kitten's  acquaintance  had  first  been  made  by 
Miss  Lucy.     It  was  on  an  afternoon  in  May,  when 
Lucy,  sustained  by  the  consciousness  of  a  new  spring 
suit,  had  gone  out  to  make  some  calls.     She  went 
into  the  library  first,  to  show  herself  to  her  sisters. 

"  Turn    around,"     Miss     Letitia     commanded. 
"  Your  jacket  is  too  long  under  the  arms,"  she  an- 

29 


30  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

nounced.  "  It  wrinkles,  and  will  have  to  be  short- 
ened." 

"  It  doesn't  look  badly,  child,"  Miss  Deborah 
hastened  to  assure  her.  "  Letitia  would  see  wrinkles 
under  an  angel's  wings." 

"  Your  hat  is  very  becoming,"  Miss  Letitia  com- 
mented graciously.  "  1  am  glad  you  took  my  ad- 
vice and  decided  on  violets." 

"  I  wish  you  had  chosen  pink  roses,"  said  Miss 
Deborah.  "  Violets  look  so  old  for  you,  dear,  es- 
pecially with  that  gray  suit.  A  woman  can  wear 
violets  and  gray  gowns  at  any  age." 

"  I  suspect  I  am  '  any  age,'  "  Lucy  said,  as  she 
stood  before  the  old-fashioned  mirror  pinning  on  her 
veil. 

"  Nonsense,  child !  "  and  Miss  Deborah,  who  was 
fourteen  years  older  than  Lucy,  gave  an  admiring 
glance  at  her  sister's  slight  figure  and  golden  hair. 
"  With  that  spotted  veil  on  you  don't  look  more  than 
twenty-five,  does  she,  Letitia  ?  " 

"  Thirty-five,"  said  Miss  Letitia. 

As  Lucy  was  a  little  over  forty,  she  felt  grateful, 
even  for  this  amendment. 

"Have  you  got  your  card-case?"  asked  Miss 
Deborah. 

"  Yes,  dear." 

"  Be  sure  you  go  to  see  Laura  Macauley,"  her 
sister  Letitia  admonished  her.  "  It  is  three  months 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       31 

since  she  asked  us  to  tea,  and  you  have  not  made 
your  party-call." 

As  Lucy  stepped  out  into  the  fragrant  sunshine 
she  had  that  unreasoning  thrill  and  illogical  cer- 
tainty of  coming  happiness  that  the  spring-time  used 
to  bring  her  in  her  girlhood.  Then,  with  a  sharp 
little  pang,  she  remembered  that  there  was  nothing 
very  interesting  that  could  happen  to  her  any  more. 
As  she  passed  down  the  brick  walk  between  the 
two  huge  lilac  bushes  full  of  their  purple,  half-opened 
buds,  she  lingered  a  moment  to  pick  a  spray  in 
memory  of  old  times.  The  world  was  beautiful  on 
that  May  afternoon,  with  that  subtle  hint  of  greater 
beauty  yet  to  come,  which  is  the  joy  of  youth  and 
early  spring. 

"  Nothing  is  ever  so  beautiful  as  it  promises  to 
be,"  she  thought,  as  she  looked  at  the  shimmer  of 
green  on  the  maples.  "  For  that  reason,  if  for  no 
other,  there  is  nothing  so  lovely  in  all  nature  as 
May." 

The  spray  of  lilacs  called  up  a  host  of  memories 
of  earlier  days,  and  she  felt  very  lonely  as  she  went 
down  the  village  street.  It  was  a  deep-seated  lone- 
liness, which  the  making  of  a  number  of  calls  did 
little  .to  dispel.  She  left  the  most  formidable  until 
the  last. 

"  I  do  hope  Laura  won't  be  in,"  Lucy  thought,  as 
she  rang  the  Macauleys'  bell,  and  then  she  reflected 


32  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

that  it  was  absurd  for  her  to  be  afraid  of  a  girl 
who  was  at  least  ten  years  younger  than  she 
was. 

A  trim  maid  opened  the  door  and  looked  at  Lucy 
and  her  new  gray  suit  with  supercilious  superi- 
ority. 

Miss  Macauley  was  at  home,  and  Lucy  walked 
into  the  irreproachable  parlor  with  the  feeling  of 
miserable  anticipation  that  we  associate  with  the 
dentist's  office.  It  was  an  immaculate  room,  with  a 
polished  hard-wood  floor,  almost  covered  by  an 
oriental  rug,  and  a  dark-red  wall-paper  sprinkled 
over  with  engravings  in  black  frames.  Lucy  looked 
in  vain  for  a  single  sign  of  reassuring  shabbiness. 
Presently,  as  if  to  make  her  feel  more  at  home, 
there  came  in  at  the  partly  open  door  the  most  lov- 
able gray  kitten  that  she  had  ever  seen.  Nothing 
could  have  been  more  at  variance  with  the  surround- 
ing stiffness  than  this  little  creature  with  his  un- 
conscious grace  and  confiding  certainty  of  a  wel- 
come. 

"  Oh,  you  beauty,  you  dear,"  Lucy  said.  "  Come 
and  see  your  old  auntie." 

The  kitten  promptly  accepted  this  invitation  and 
jumped  into  his  new  friend's  lap. 

"  Good-afternoon,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  and 
Miss  Macauley,  in  an  elaborate  pale-green  gown, 
swept  into  the  room,  extending  her  hand  with  her 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       33 

stereotyped  smile  and  conventionally  cordial  man- 
ner, which  did  not  deceive  her  visitor. 

"  Pussy,  naughty  pussy,"  she  said,  "  get  down  out 
of  Miss  Wyatt's  lap;  you  will  tumble  her  pretty 
new  frock." 

Instead  of  obeying,  the  kitten  nestled  down  com- 
fortably, making  a  charming  harmony  of  color,  a 
dark-gray  fluffy  ball,  against  the  lighter  gray  of 
Lucy's  dress. 

"  Dear  pussy,"  she  said,  stroking  him  gently. 

"  You  are  evidently  very  fond  of  cats." 

"  I  adore  them." 

"  I  want  to  find  a  good  home  for  this  one.  We 
have  two  others,  both  promised,  but  you  can  have 
this  little  fellow  if  you  want  him." 

"  I  should  love  to  have  him,  but  I  can't,  for 
Letitia  and  Deborah  are  both  prejudiced  against 
cats.  He  is  the  most  enchanting  kitten  I  ever  saw. 
What  is  his  name?  " 

"  He  hasn't  any.  WTe  have  such  a  succession  of 
them  that  I  can't  name  them  all." 

Then  Lucy  knew  that  Laura  Macauley  was  not 
really  fond  of  cats.  It  seemed  hard  that  such  a  per- 
son should  have  a  succession  of  kittens,  while  she, 
who  loved  them  so,  did  not  own  even  one. 

Miss  Macauley  talked  on  general  subjects  for  a 
few  minutes  with  such  an  ease  of  manner  and  flow 
3 


34  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

of  language  that  her  visitor  felt  like  an  ill-informed 
child.  At  last  Lucy  rose  to  go. 

"  You  dear  thing,  I  must  put  you  down,"  and  she 
gave  the  fluffy  head  a  regretful  kiss. 

"  He  does  not  want  to  leave  you,"  said  Miss  Mac- 
auley,  who  had  been  in  despair  as  to  finding  a  home 
for  this  kitten,  and  now  saw  the  chance  of  her  life. 
"  I  really  must  give  him  to  you.  Wait  a  minute," 
she  added,  with  the  decision  of  a  general  to  a  pri- 
vate, "I  will  get  a  basket  and  you  can  take  him 
home  with  you  now." 

"  Oh,"  gasped  Lucy,  "  I  can't.  What  would 
Letitia  and  Deborah  say  ?  " 

Miss  Macauley  had  already  left  the  room.  Lucy 
stood  transfixed.  The  kitten  was  on  her  shoulder 
now;  his  warm  little  face  was  nestling  against  her 
cheek. 

"  What  blue  eyes  you  have,  dear,"  she  said ;  "  so 
full  of  expression.  It  seems  as  if  I  must  have  you, 
but  I  can't.  And  yet  it  would  not  be  polite  to  steal 
out  of  the  house  like  a  thief  before  Laura  comes 
back." 

"  Here  is  a  basket,  just  the  right  size,"  said  Miss 
Macauley  as  she  came  back.  "  He  won't  get  out," 
and  she  put  the  kitten  in  and  shut  down  the  cover. 
"  Take  him ;  I  am  glad  to  give  him  to  you,"  and 
there  was  no  ring  of  insincerity  in  her  voice  now. 

Lucy's  fingers  closed  on  the  handle  of  the  basket 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       35 

in  a  faltering  way.  "  You  are  very  kind,  Laura ; 
I  appreciate  your  generosity,  but  I  mustn't  take 
him,"  and  she  put  her  gift  reluctantly  down  on  the 
sofa.  "  Dear,  it  breaks  my  heart  to  give  you  up, 
but  Letitia  and  Deborah " 

"  It  is  only  fair  that  you  should  have  your  way 
sometimes,"  Miss  Macauley  broke  in.  "  If  you  want 
a  kitten  there  is  no  reason  why  you  should  not  have 
one.  Miss  Letitia  is  so  fond  of  me  she  will  be  satis- 
fied when  she  finds  I  have  given  him  to  you,  and 
Miss  Deborah  will  be  glad  to  have  you  pleased." 

"  If  my  sisters  do  not  object,  I  will  come  for  him 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  Take  him  home  with  you  now,"  Laura  com- 
manded, realizing  that  there  was  no  time  like  the 
present.  "  If  you  mind  carrying  the  basket,  I  will 
walk  back  with  you  and  take  it  myself." 

"  I  don't  mind  that  in  the  least,"  said  Lucy  in  a 
flurried  way.  "  I  should  be  very  sorry  to  give  you 
so  much  trouble." 

Miss  Macauley  once  more  thrust  the  basket  into 
Lucy's  hand,  and  followed  her  to  the  door.  "  Good- 
by,"  she  said.  "  I  am  sure  you  will  enjoy  the  kit- 
ten," and  she  walked  into  the  house  with  the  exhil- 
arating sense  of  a  victory  won. 

Lucy  had  not  gone  far  before  she  met  Mrs.  Lut- 
terworth,  the  minister's  wife.  Mrs.  Lutterworth 
was  one  of  those  persons  who  feel  that  they  are  born 


36  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

into  this  world  to  set  other  people  right,  and  there 
is  always  a  wide  field  for  this  in  a  parish. 

Another  trait  of  hers  was  curiosity.  She  was 
eager  to  know  what  Lucy  Wyatt  had  in  that  cov- 
ered basket.  It  seemed  so  incongruous,  taken  in 
connection  with  her  best  gown  and  those  spotless 
gloves. 

"  You  have  evidently  had  a  present,"  she  haz- 
arded. "  Won't  you  let  me  carry  that  heavy  basket 
for  you  ?  You  look  tired." 

"  No,  thank  you;  it  isn't  heavy." 

"  I  am  going  to  play  a  game  of  twenty  questions. 
Is  it  animal,  mineral,  or  vegetable?  " 

Before  Lucy  could  reply,  a  round  head  answered 
this  question  by  pushing  up  the  cover  of  the  basket, 
while  a  pair  of  blue  eyes  looked  at  Mrs.  Lutterworth 
in  mild  astonishment. 

"  Lucy  .Wyatt !  .What  on  earth  are  you  doing 
with  that  kitten? "' 

"  Laura  [Macauley  would  give  him  to  me." 

"  That  is  just  like  Laura  to  foist  off  one  of  her 
kittens  on  you.  Lucy,  you  should  have  more 
spirit.'' 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  kittens.  I  am  only  wonder- 
ing what  Deborah  and  Letitia  will  say." 

"  Well,  you  are  likely  to  find  out  pretty  soon." 

"  I  couldn't  help  taking  it  without  seeming  very 
rude." 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       37 

"  You  should  have  the  courage  to  say  '  no/  and 
by  the  way,  my  dear,  Mr.  Lutterworth  is  determined 
that  you  shall  take  Esther  Norris's  Sunday  School 
class;  Bertha  Hall  has  made  a  complete  fiasco  of 
it." 

"  I  think  I  have  the  courage  to  say  '  no,'  "  said 
Lucy,  with  a  little  smile. 

"  That  is  an  entirely  different  matter.  Ministers 
and  kittens  are  not  in  the  same  category,"  returned 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  with  a  smile.  "  Mr.  Lutterworth 
will  not  take  no  for  an  answer.  He  expects  you  at 
the  vestry  at  half-past  nine  next  Sunday.  Lucy,  if 
you  don't  want  that  kitten,  just  open  the  basket  and 
let  him  out  now.  He  is  pretty  enough  to  find  a 
good  home,  and  the  chances  are  he  would  run 
straight  to  Laura  Macauley,  which  would  serve  her 
right." 

Lucy  put  the  kitten's  head  gently  back.  "  I've 
got  him,  and  I  am  going  to  keep  him,"  she  said. 

Her  sisters  were  both  out  when  Lucy  reached 
home.  She  took  the  kitten  into  the  kitchen  and 
showed  him  to  the  cook,  who  had  a  heart  for  cats. 
"Did  you  ever  see  such  a  pretty  creature?"  she 
asked. 

"  He  is  a  beauty,  Miss  Lucy.  But  what  will  Miss 
Deborah  say?  Her  that  is  so  afraid  of  their  catch- 
ing birds." 

"  I  am  going  to  keep  him  in  the  attic  next  my 


38  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

room  to-night.  I  don't  dare  tell  my  sisters,  for  fear 
they  will  send  him  back.  I  brought  him  out  for  you 
to  give  him  his  supper." 

"  Bless  his  dear  heart !  " 

Lucy  and  Bridget  established  the  kitten  in  the 
room  on  the  third  story  that  used  to  belong  to  Mary 
Wyatt,  more  than  thirty  years  ago,  before  she  mar- 
ried Amos  Forsyth.  It  had  been  turned  into  a 
store-room  now,  and  was  filled  with  trunks,  barrels 
of  old  letters,  unsteady  tables  and  highly  colored 
chromos.  These  inartistic,  but  appealing  pictures, 
had  been  sent  into  banishment  by  the  decree  of  Miss 
Letitia,  to  the  regret  of  Miss  Deborah  and  Lucy, 
who  were  weak  enough  to  love  them  from  old  as- 
sociation. 

Lucy  had  always  preferred  to  keep  her  own  old 
room  in  the  third  story.  Her  sisters  wondered  why 
she  still  climbed  those  winding  stairs,  when  she 
could  have  her  choice  of  three  good  chambers  on 
the  second  floor,  which  was  sadly  empty  now,  but 
no  other  room  held  the  associations  of  her  girlhood, 
and  no  other  windows  commanded  so  friendly  and 
intimate  a  view  of  the  tree-tops.  It  was  a  spotless» 
room,  with  a  white  Marseilles  quilt  on  the  bed,  white 
dimity  curtains  and  a  white  frill  on  the  washstand. 
The  furniture  was  chestnut,  and  had  been  made  to 
order  for  her,  and  given  her  by  her  father,  on  her 
eighteenth  birthday.  Lilies  were  carved  on  the  low 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       39 

dressing-table  and  on  the  bed.  Lucy  had  always  re- 
minded her  father  of  a  lily.  In  the  chestnut  book- 
case were  all  the  volumes  she  had  loved  in  her  child- 
hood, the  Lucy  books,  the  Prudy  books,  Little  Susy's 
Six  Birthdays,  and,  best  of  all,  Alice's  Adventures 
in  Wonderland,  and  Through  the  Looking-glass. 
The  last  two  had  not  been  classics  in  her  childhood, 
but  new  books,  about  which  there  had  been  a  di- 
vision of  opinion.  Her  grown-up  sisters  had 
thought  them  too  far-fetched. 

"  You  dear  thing,"  said  Lucy,  as  she  gave  the 
kitten  a  hug,  "  I  hope  you  will  be  happy  in  the  attic. 
You  are  next  door  to  me." 

"Where  on  earth  is  that  cat?"  Miss  Deborah 
asked,  later  in  the  evening. 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  Miss  Letitia. 

Lucy  bent  her  head  guiltily  over  her  embroidery. 

"  It  sounds  as  if  it  were  in  this  house,  but  of 
course  it  can't  be,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 

"  It  is  probably  in  the  back  yard,"  Miss  Letitia 
observed.  "  People  are  so  selfish  where  their  cats 
are  concerned.  They  never  have  the  least  considera- 
tion for  their  neighbors." 

Lucy  stole  upstairs  and  opened  the  door.  Sud- 
denly the  piteous  mews  ceased,  a  soft  head  rubbed 
against  her,  and  a  little  voice  gave  a  series  of  happy 
purrs.  Lucy  passed  an  hour  in  her  own  room.  She 


40  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

did  not  dare  to  stay  any  longer  for  fear  of  arousing 
the  suspicions  of  her  sisters. 

"  Well,  of  all  unsociable  persons,  you  are  the 
most  so,"  said  Miss  Letitia,  when  her  sister  came 
downstairs  at  last.  "  What  have  you  been  about?  " 

"  I  had  letters  to  write,"  said  Lucy.  This  was 
true  enough,  and  she  did  not  think  it  necessary  to 
add  that  she  had  not  written  them. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  those  tell-tale  mews 
began  again.  Fortunately  Lucy's  sisters  were  good 
sleepers,  but  nevertheless  she  was  in  constant  dread 
of  their  waking.  At  last  she  rose  and  opened  the 
attic  door.  A  little  furry  being  rubbed  against  her 
bare  feet  in  an  ecstasy  of  joy.  She  stooped  and 
caught  the  kitten  up  in  her  arms. 

"  You  shall  spend  the  night  with  me,  you  dear, 
fascinating,  homesick  little  thing." 

This  was  not  so  peaceful  a  proceeding  as  Lucy 
had  pictured,  for  the  kitten  proved  to  be  of  a  wakeful 
disposition.  He  ran  up  and  down  over  the  bed,  and 
every  now  and  then  would  amuse  himself  by  sharp- 
ening his  claws  on  her  arms. 

"  What  shall  I  do  with  you,  you  little  mischief? 
We  are  not  either  of  us  going  to  get  a  wink  of  sleep. 
I  wonder  if  you  are  not  hungry?  " 

Lucy  went  into  the  attic  to  get  the  pitcher  of 
milk  and  the  saucer  that  she  had  left  there.  She  did 
not  light  the  candle,  for  she  knew  just  where  she 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah      41 

had  put  the  pitcher,  on  the  left-hand  side  of  the  man- 
tel-piece. She  reached  out  her  hand  for  it  and 
stumbled  over  a  picture  that  leaned  insecurely 
against  a  small  table.  Picture  and  table  both  fell 
to  the  floor  with  a  deafening  crash.  Lucy  fled 
guiltily  into  her  own  room  and  thrust  the  kitten 
under  the  bedclothes  awaiting  developments.  They 
came  presently  in  the  shape  of  Miss  Deborah,  who 
ran  panting  up  the  winding  stairs. 

"  Lucy !  What  on  earth  was  that  noise  ?  Are 
you  ill,  child?  " 

"  I'm  all  right,  dear,"  said  Lucy,  feigning  a  sleepy 
voice. 

"  Then  there  must  be  burglars  in  the  house.  Did 
you  hear  that  fearful  noise?  " 

"  Yes.    I  knocked  something  over." 

"  You  knocked  something  over.  What  did  you 
knock  over,  you  crazy  child?  Is  it  broken?  " 

"  It  is  all  right.  Please  go  downstairs,  dear,  and 
don't  bother  about  me,"  she  begged,  for  the  kitten 
was  making  frantic  attempts  to  get  his  head  above 
the  bedclothes. 

"  But  I  must  know  what  fell,"  insisted  Miss 
Deborah,  coming  into  Lucy's  room.  "  Everything 
looks  all  right.  This  is  very  mysterious.  Are  you 
sure  there  is  not  someone  in  the  house?  " 

"  Perfectly  sure.  I  tell  you  everything  is  all 
right.  Good-night,  dear." 


42  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  kitten,  enraged  at 
being  kept  so  long  under  the  bedclothes,  dug  his 
claws  into  Lucy's  arms  and  uttered  a  piercing 
''  miau." 

"  Lucy  Wyatt,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  the  truth 
flashing  upon  her,  "  have  you  got  a  kitten  here  in 
this  room  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Where  did  you  get  it  ?  And  how  long  have  you 
had  it?" 

"  Since  five  o'clock  this  afternoon.  I  was  going 
to  tell  you  to-morrow.  Laura  Macauley  insisted 
upon  giving  him  to  me.  I  told  her  you  wouldn't 
like  it." 

"  Like  it !  Well,  I  should  think  not.  To-morrow 
morning  you  can  have  the  pleasure  of  taking  the 
kitten  back  to  Laura  Macauley  with  my  best  compli- 
ments. 

By  way  of  answer  Lucy  caught  up  her  pet  and 
kissed  him  passionately.  Her  long  golden  hair  fell 
around  her  worn  and  faded  face  as  she  held  the 
little  creature  up  in  mute  supplication. 

"  I  simply  cannot  give  him  back,  he  is  so  sweet," 
she  said. 

Miss  Deborah  was  touched.  She  had  never  been 
able  to  realize  that  Lucy  was  a  middle-aged  woman. 
And  to-night,  with  her  flowing  hair,  and  the  kitten 
pressed  close  to  her  face,  she  seemed  more  than  ever 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       43 

like  the  little  sister  of  the  past,  whom  Miss  Deborah 
had  felt  it  her  duty  to  scold  and  train,  but  whom, 
notwithstanding,  she  loved  better  than  anyone  in 
the  world. 

"  If  only  kittens  wouldn't  grow  into  cats,"  Miss 
Deborah  said,  meditatively.  "  Lucy,  I  would  do 
anything  in  the  world  for  you,  if  my  principles  were 
not  involved,  but  when  he  is  a  little  older  he  will 
catch  birds.  Now,  I  hold  that  birds  have  a  far 
more  important  place  in  the  economy  of  nature  than 
cats." 

"  He  won't  be  big  enough  to  catch  anything  this 
summer,"  said  Lucy,  eagerly. 

"  Then  I  am  sure  Letitia  will  seriously  object. 
She  has  always  been  firmly  set  against  cats." 

"  She  has  had  her  way  for  a  great  many  years." 

"  Then  there  are  the  Browns'  and  Simondses' 
chickens.  It  would  be  a  very  unneighborly  thing 
for  us  to  have  a  cat  who  might  eat  chickens." 

"  He  won't  eat  them ;  I'll  train  him." 

"  You  train  anything,  child  ?  All  the  training 
he  got  would  have  to  come  from  me.  No,  Lucy, 
I  am  very  sorry  to  disappoint  you,  but  he  must  go 
back  to  Laura  to-morrow  morning.  It  will  be  easier 
for  you  in  the  end." 

"  I  can't  take  him  back,"  said  Lucy,  in  pathetic 
tones.  "  I  was  feeling  so  lonely  this  afternoon, 
thinking  about  old  times,  and  when  that  dear  little 


44  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

thing  cuddled  down  in  my  lap  and  Laura  gave  him 
to  me,  it  seemed  like  a  special  providence.  I  have 
had  to  give  up  one  thing  after  another  all  my  life," 
she  added,  with  a  little  break  in  her  voice. 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Both  women 
were  thinking  of  days  long  ago,  when  those  empty 
rooms  were  peopled  with  laughing  inmates. 

Miss  Deborah  brushed  her  hand  hastily  across  her 
eyes. 

"  Well,  Lucy  Wyatt,"  she  said,  "  if  a  kitten  can 
be  any  comfort  to  you,  for  heaven's  sake  keep  him. 
I'll  make  it  all  right  with  Letitia." 

"  Bridget,"  said  Miss  Deborah  the  next  morn- 
ing, "  you  can  bring  in  a  plate  for  Mr.  Gray.  He 
is  going  to  take  breakfast  with  us." 

"Mr.  Gray!"  gasped  Miss  Letitia.  "Who  is 
he?  And  why  didn't  you  tell  me  before?  " 

"  He  has  been  staying  at  the  Macauley's.  He  is 
a  great  friend  of  Laura's." 

"  Then  he  is  sure  to  be  agreeable.  I  wish  yon 
had  told  me,  though,  and  I  would  have  put  on  my 
white  morning-gown." 

Miss  Deborah  gave  what  would  have  been  called 
a  chuckle  had  the  sound  issued  from  the  lips  of  a 
schoolboy.  And  just  then  Bridget  came  in  with  the 
kitten  tucked  under  one  arm  and  a  plate  in  the  other 
hand. 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       45 

"  My  sister,  Miss  Wyatt,  Mr.  Gray,"  said  Miss 
Deborah,  formally. 

"  Deborah,  what  tomfoolery  is  this?  "  demanded 
Miss  Letitia,  drawing  herself  up  with  dignity. 

"  It  is  a  kitten  your  friend,  Laura  Macauley,  gave 
to  Lucy.  Poor  child,  she  was  afraid  to  tell  us  last 
night.  I  know  we  never  meant  to  have  a  kitten,  but 
Lucy  seems  to  have  grown  very  much  attached  to 
it  already." 

Mr.  Gray  looked  about  him  for  a  minute;  then 
he  gave  a  spring  and  nestled  down  confidingly  in 
Miss  Letitia's  lap.  Lucy  had  not  come  down  yet. 
She  was  making  up  for  her  wakeful  night. 

Miss  Letitia  was  a  wise  woman.  Seeing  that 
the  society  of  Mr.  Gray  was  inevitable,  she  resolved 
gracefully  to  make  the  best  of  a  bad  situation. 

"  He  is  a  very  pretty  kitten — for  a  kitten,"  she 
admitted. 

"  How  the  Wyatts  can  make  such  fools  of  them- 
selves over  their  cat  passes  my  comprehension," 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  said  to  Laura  Macauley.  This 
was  a  year  later,  when  Mr.  Gray  had  become  the 
chief  ruler  of  the  family.  "  I  actually  met  Deborah 
coming  home  with  a  cat-basket  for  her  precious 
Mr.  Gray  to  take  his  naps  in — it  is  such  a  crazy 
name  to  give  an  animal, — and  they  won't  all  go 
away  together  and  shut  up  the  house,  on  account  of 


46  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

the  cat.  I  should  like  to  lend  them  two  or  three  of 
my  children.  I  fancy  I  should  hear  less  about  Mr. 
Gray.  It  is  astonishing  how  much  time  some  people 
have  to  waste." 

"  Poor  Lucy  seems  to  be  out  of  it  altogether, 
now,"  said  Laura  Macauley.  "  I  thought  she  was 
going  to  have  something  for  her  exclusive  property 
at  last,  but  Miss  Deborah  has  taken  complete  pos- 
session of  the  cat.  The  sun  rises  and  sets  in  Mr. 
Gray  for  her." 

As  the  season  went  on,  Mr.  Gray  showed  new 
powers.  Miss  Deborah  had  been  right  in  her  expec- 
tations. To  the  consternation  of  gentle  Miss  Lucy, 
this  second  summer  of  his  life  he  developed  into  a 
mighty  hunter. 

The  first  time  that  she  saw  him  with  a  young 
robin  Lucy  experienced  the  pangs  of  an  aunt  whose 
favorite  nephew  has  taken  to  disgraceful  courses. 

"  Dear,  you  mustn't  eat  such  things,  they  are 
God's  creatures,"  she  informed  him,  "  and  have  a 
right  to  their  life  just  as  much  as  you  have  to  yours. 
1 1  is  naughty,  naughty,  naughty.  I  shall  have  to 
punish  you,"  and  with  averted  face,  she  struck  him 
two  nervous,  unsteady  blows. 

Mr.  Gray  looked  at  her  with  indescribable  dig- 
nity, then  he  turned  his  back  on  her,  and  took  refuge 
with  Miss  Deborah,  on  the  other  side  of  the  room. 

"  Lucy,  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  said  her  sister. 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       47 

"  Why  should  poor,  dear  Mr.  Gray  know  that  God's 
creatures,  the  robins,  are  any  more  sacred  than 
mice  ?  Lucy,  do  you  suppose  if  you  had  always  been 
taught  that  it  was  a  praiseworthy  act  for  you  to 
catch  and  eat  mice  you  would  know  by  instinct  that 
it  was  a  terrible  crime  to  kill  a  robin?  Come  here, 
darling.  Come  to  your  old  auntie.  Another  time, 
dear,  we  will  not  catch  the  pretty  robins,  but  this 
time,  love,  you  did  not  know  it  was  wrong." 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  himself,  Mr. 
Gray  could  never  learn  that  it  was  wrong.  Lucy 
gave  up  punishing  him  after  a  time,  for  she  found 
it  only  made  him  turn  against  her  and  devote  him- 
self to  her  more  indulgent  sisters.  And  there  came 
an  unhappy  moment  when  she  was  grateful  if  it 
was  nothing  worse  than  robins,  for  in  the  middle  of 
the  summer  he  learned  the  taste  of  young  chickens. 

"  Dear,"  said  Lucy  to  her  sister  Deborah,  "  I  am 
really  afraid  we  shall  have  to  chain  up  Mr.  Gray  in 
the  yard,  for  this  is  the  second  time  Walter  Brown 
has  been  over  and  complained  that  he  has  eaten  one 
of  their  chickens." 

"  Chain  up  Mr.  Gray!  Lucy,  I  am  surprised  at 
you.  How  would  you  like  to  be  chained  up  in  the 
yard  simply  because  you  were  fond  of  spring 
chicken?  You  should  learn  to  do  as  you  would  be 
done  by,"  Miss  Deborah  said  with  a  gleam  of  merri- 
ment in  her  eyes. 


48  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  That  is  just  what  I  am  thinking.  Suppose  it 
was  our  chickens  and  their  cat?  " 

"  People  who  try  to  keep  chickens  in  the  middle 
of  a  country  town  must  take  the  consequences." 

"  Don't  you  remember  how  you  used  to  feel  be- 
fore we  had  a  cat?  "  Lucy  ventured.  "  You  thought 
it  was  disgraceful  for  people  to  let  their  animals 
run  riot  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  very  different  matter.  Mr.  Gray 
merely  goes  out  for  a  little  exercise." 

"  You  know  I  promised  to  train  him  ?  "  Lucy  sug- 
gested. 

"  My  dear,  when  you  propose  to  punish  a  fellow- 
creature  for  doing  what  he  considers  his  duty,  then 
I  think  it  is  time  for  me  to  step  in  and  interfere. 
Mr.  Gray  always  lives  up  to  his  lights.  Come  here, 
dearest,"  and  she  gathered  him  up  in  her  arms; 
"  come  to  the  friend  who  never  misunderstands 
you." 

"  It  does  seem  as  if  I  might  punish  my  own  cat 
when  I  see  fit,"  Lucy  thought.  "  I  hoped,  when  they 
neither  of  them  wanted  a  cat,  that  he  could  be  mine, 
all  mine.  And  yet  how  absurd  it  is  for  me  to  be 
jealous, — yes,  I  am  jealous,  that  is  the  ugly  name 
for  the  feeling, — because  a  gray  cat  loves  Deborah 
best.  Dear  Deborah,  I  ought  to  be  glad." 

When  it  was  not  only  the  Browns  who  com- 


The  Conversion  of  Miss  Deborah       49 

plained,  but  also  the  Wyatts'  good  friends,  the 
Simondses,  Lucy  felt  that  she  must  interfere,  no 
matter  what  it  cost  her. 

Frances  Simonds  came  over  one  morning1  and 
said,  "  I  am  very  sorry,  Miss  Lucy,  but  it  has  hap- 
pened again." 

"  Then  I  will  certainly  see  that  he  is  chained  up 
in  the  yard." 

Just  then  Miss  Deborah  came  in. 

"  Frances  says  Mr.  Gray  has  been  eating  their 
chickens  again,"  said  Lucy,  "  and  I  have  told  her 
I  will  see  that  he  is  chained  up  in  the  yard." 

"  I  am  by  no  means  sure  that  Mr.  Gray  has  eaten 
any  chickens,"  Miss  Deborah  remarked  with  dignity. 
"  I  never  saw  him  eat  one.  Are  you  sure  it  wasn't 
a  mouse,  Frances?  He's  very  fond  of  mice." 

"  I  am  sure  it  wasn't  a  mouse.  It  was  yellow  and 
downy." 

"  It  may  have  been  a  bird,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 
"  I  regret  to  state  there  is  something  about  his  moral 
nature  which  makes  it  impossible  for  us  to  convince 
him  it  is  wrong  to  eat  birds." 

"  It  wasn't  a  bird,"  said  Frances  shortly.  "  It 
was  one  of  our  yellow  chickens.  I  know  it,  because 
I  saw  it  in  his  mouth,  and  besides,  I  counted;  there 
were  thirty  yesterday,  and  now  there  are  only 
twenty-nine." 


50  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Well,  Frances  Simonds,"  said  Miss  Deborah, 
cornered  at  last,  "  if  you  have  thirty  chickens,  I  do 
not  think  you  need  grudge  one  to  poor,  dear  Mr. 
Gray." 


MR.  GRAY'S  RIVAL 


Ill 

MR.   GRAY'S  RIVAL 

THE  arrival  of  the  Monday  evening  mail  was 
the  chief  event  of  the  week  to  the  Miss 
Wyatts  because  it  brought  the  New  York 
letters.  From  the  time  that  Mary  Wyatt  had  be- 
come Mrs.  Amos  Forsyth,  until  just  before  her 
death,  more  than  thirty  years  later,  there  had  never 
been  a  break  in  the  correspondence,  save  when  the 
sisters  were  together.  At  last  there  had  come  an 
anxious  Monday  evening  when  no  letter  reached 
them,  and  later  a  few  hurried  lines  from  Mary's  son 
John,  with  whom  she  had  lived  since  his  wife's 
death,  telling  of  the  illness  of  his  mother,  then  a  tele- 
gram saying  that  all  was  over,  and  finally  that  deso- 
lating gap  that  can  never  be  bridged. 

When  the  three  sisters  went  on  to  the  funeral. 
John  begged  that  one  of  them  would  make  her  home 
with  him  and  his  children.  Miss  Letitia,  the  oldest 
sister,  who  had  always  been  tenderly  cherished  on 
account  of  her  beauty,  and  intellect,  an.d  her  sensitive 

S3 


54  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

nerves,  could  hardly  be  expected  to  begin  to  take 
care  of  other  people  at  the  age  of  fifty-six;  Lucy, 
John's  favorite  aunt,  who  seemed  more  like  his 
older  sister,  would  have  been  only  too  thankful  to 
stay,  but  she  had  a  lack  of  experience  in  house-keep- 
ing, joined  to  the  timidity  that  was  the  result  of 
an  abortive  life,  therefore  it  was  John's  aunt  Deb- 
orah who  stayed  with  him  for  a  few  weeks,  making 
herself  loved  by  her  breezy  cheerfulness,  in  spite  of 
the  occasional  drastic  tenor  of  her  remarks.  As 
she  was  the  main  prop  of  the  household  at  home  she 
could  not  be  spared  long,  but  she  found  an  honest, 
capable  woman  to  keep  house  for  John,  whom  every 
reasonable  person  ought  to  have  liked.  It  was  cer- 
tainly not  Miss  Deborah's  fault  that  those  spoiled 
children  could  not  bear  the  house-keeper.  So  the 
arrangement  ended  with  the  winter,  and  the  next 
summer  John  and  the  twins  came  to  stay  with 
his  aunts,  and,  as  an  unexpected  result,  he  married 
eighteen-year-old  Esther  Norris.  It  was  two  years 
and  a  half  since  that  October  morning  when  John 
and  Esther  drove  away  between  the  rows  of  flaming 
maples,  into  a  new  world,  and  even  Miss  Deborah 
had  been  forced  to  admit  that  the  marriage  had 
turned  out  unexpectedly  well.  She  stayed  with 
them  one  summer  at  the  sea-shore  (each  sister 
took  her  turn)  and  she  was  completely  won  over  by 
Esther's  charms.  It  was  Esther  who  suggested  that 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  55 

the  habit  of  Sunday  letter-writing  should  be  re- 
sumed, and  that  John  and  the  two  children  should 
each  write  one  letter  a  month  to  their  aunts,  while 
she  took  the  fourth  Sunday.  And  so  life  had  gone 
on,  and  while  the  old  gap  could  never  be  filled,  new  in- 
terests and  dear  new  faces  were  crowding  in,  for  there 
was  a  baby  now  in  the  Forsyth  household,  a  little 
Mary,  named  for  that  other  Mary,  who  had  written 
about  John's  babyhood  more  than  thirty  years  ago. 

"  I  suppose  you  have  a  letter  for  me,"  said  Miss 
Letitia,  as  Lucy  came  in  with  the  Monday  evening 
mail. 

"  It  is  for  Deborah  this  time." 

"  That  is  very  strange.  It  is  John's  turn  to  write 
to  me." 

Miss  Deborah  opened  her  letter  and  gave  an  ex- 
clamation of  surprise. 

"  I  hope  there  is  not  any  bad  news  ?  "  Lucy  asked 
anxiously. 

"  No.  They  are  all  well.  John  is  proposing  to 
bring  all  the  family  on  to  spend  the  summer  with 
us." 

"  Upon  my  word,  that  is  cool !  "  exclaimed  Miss 
Letitia.  "  It  is  very  strange  he  did  not  write  to  me 
when  it  is  my  turn,  and  I  am  the  oldest,"  she 
added. 

"  I  suppose  he  wrote  to  me  because  I  am  house- 
keeper. You  can  answer  the  letter,  if  you  like." 


56  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  I  have  enough  letters  of  my  own  to  answer, 
thank  you.  I  should  think  Esther  would  have  the 
sense  to  see  that  it  may  not  be  convenient  for  us  to 
have  two  grown  people  and  two  children  and  a  nurse 
and  baby,  to  spend  the  summer." 

"  She  has,"  and  Miss  Deborah  read  an  extract 
from  the  letter. 

"  Esther  tells  me  we  are  altogether  too  big  a  fam- 
ily now  to  inflict  on  you,  and  as  her  father's  house 
is  not  large  enough  to  receive  us,  she  proposes  our 
going  to  Mrs.  Homer  Newhall's  boarding-house, 
but  I  told  her  my  aunts  would  feel  deeply  hurt  if  we 
didn't  come  to  them.  Of  course,  if  for  any  reason 
if  is  not  convenient,  you  will  let  us  know  frankly. 
I  long  to  have  you  all  see  Mary.  She  is  beginning 
to  walk  and  take  notice,  and  yesterday  she  electri- 
fied me  by  saying  '  papa.'  " 

"  John  is  a  perfect  fool  over  that  child,"  Miss 
Deborah  observed.  "  Mary  is  thirteen  months  old, 
and  ought  to  have  said  '  papa  '  weeks  ago ;  Lucy  said 
'  papa '  and  '  mamma '  when  she  was  nine  months 
old,  and  John  himself — and  boys  are  not  usually  so 
forward  as  girls — began  to  talk  when  he  was " 

"  For  heaven's  sake  spare  us  those  reminiscences," 
said  Miss  Letitia.  "  What  are  you  going  to  write 
to  John?" 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  they  will  have  to  come ;  but  what 
on  earth  we  can  do  about  Mr.  Gray  I  don't  see. 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  57 

Jack  and  Lily  will  tease  him  outrageously,  poor 
creature,  and  he  is  used  to  such  a  placid  life." 

"  I  declare,  Deborah,  I  believe  you  put  the  cat's 
comfort  before  that  of  your  own  family.  /  am  used 
to  a  placid  life  too,"  Miss  Letitia  remarked. 

"  You  can  protect  yourself.  If  the  baby  were 
only  a  little  younger  I  shouldn't  mind  so  much,  but 
as  soon  as  a  child  is  big  enough  to  walk  it  is  big 
enough  to  get  into  every  kind  of  mischief.  Dear, 
fascinating  little  thing!  I  long  to  see  her,  but  I 
would  rather  see  her  at  the  distance  of  Mrs.  New- 
hall's  boarding-house." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  have  the  courage  of  your 
convictions  and  say  so  to  John?  " 

"  Letitia !  "  Lucy  cried  reproachfully.  "  You 
wouldn't  have  the  heart  to  let  them  go  to  a  boarding- 
house  when  we  have  four  spare-rooms!  " 

"  We  can  manage  the  room  well  enough,"  said 
Miss  Deborah.  "  We  can  give  them  the  three  south 
rooms  opening  together." 

"  So  you  are  planning  to  have  me  move  out  of  my 
room?  "  Miss  Letitia  asked. 

"  Why,  I  thought  you  could  move  into  mine,  and 
I  would  take  the  little  room.  It  would  be  so  much 
more  comfortable  for  them  to  have  connecting  rooms 
and  an  open  fire." 

Miss  Deborah  had  known  her  sister  for  more 
than  fifty  years,  and  her  faith  in  the  inherent  unself- 


58  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

ishness  of  human  nature  was  so  great  that  she  could 
still  make  a  proposition  of  this  kind. 

"  Letitia  would  never  be  happy  in  any  room  but 
her  own,"  said  Lucy,  who  had  knocked  her  head 
against  her  sister's  limitations  too  often  not  to 
recognize  them.  "  It  is  no  matter  if  they  don't  have 
connecting  rooms.  The  nurse  and  the  baby  can  be 
across  the  hall." 

"  I  am  very  sorry  about  poor,  dear  Mr.  Gray," 
said  Miss  Deborah,  reverting  to  her  pet.  "  I  know 
that  naughty  baby  will  pull  his  tail  and  make  him 
very  unhappy,  and  as  for  Jack  and  Lily " 

"  John  is  a  dear  fellow,"  Miss  Letitia  interrupted, 
"  but,  like  all  men,  he  is  selfish.  It  never  occurs  to 
him  to  look  at  things  from  any  point  of  view  but  his 
own." 

They  were  coming,  actually  coming  at  last.  Miss 
Deborah  had  gone  to  the  station  to  meet  them,  and 
Miss  Letitia  and  Lucy  were  waiting  in  the  parlor, 
which  was  gay  with  a  wealth  of  roses  arranged  in 
bowls  and  vases  by  Lucy's  skilful  fingers.  It  was 
not  often  that  she  was  allowed  to  follow  her  own 
taste  entirely,  even  in  small  things,  but  the  others 
had  been  so  busy  with  larger  decisions  that  they  had 
left  the  cutting  and  arranging  of  the  flowers  to 
her. 

"  My  dear,  you  have  a  real  genius  for  fixing 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  59 

flowers,"  said  Miss  Letitia.  She  always  recognized 
perfection  when  she  saw  it,  but  her  praise  was  given 
sc  rarely  that  her  words  brought  a  glow  to  Lucy's 
heart.  ' 

At  last  there  was  the  sound  of  wheels  on  the 
gravel,  then  came  a  gay  laugh  and  a  shrill  voice 
called  out,  "  Mr.  Gray !  What  an  awfully  funny 
name  for  him.  I  thought  he  was  a  person  when 
Aunt  Lucy  wrote  about  him  first.  Hi!  Mr.  Gray, 
you  needn't  be  so  scared  of  me.  Hullo,  Aunt 
Lucy !  "  and  Jack  rushed  into  the  room,  closely  fol- 
lowed by  his  sister  Lily.  Next  came  John,  carry- 
ing the  baby  with  patriarchal  pride,  then  Esther, 
rosy  and  happy,  with  a  light  in  her  eyes  that  made 
the  whole  world  seem  a  brighter  place,  and  finally 
the  nurse. 

"  How  good  it  is  to  be  here  again,"  said  John, 
after  he  had  greeted  his  aunts. 

"  Let  me  take  Mary,"  Lucy  begged.  Having  a 
baby  in  the  house  for  two  long  months  was  a  most 
delightful  prospect. 

Mary  looked  at  her  steadily  for  a  moment  with 
blue  eyes  that  had  something  of  the  mystery  and  un- 
fathomable quality  of  the  sea.  Then  she  put  out 
her  hands  to  go  to  her  aunt  Lucy. 

"  Dear  little  girl,"  said  Lucy,  taking  her  on  her 
lap  and  giving  her  a  kiss. 

"  Lucy,  you  mustn't  kiss  the  baby;  it  isn't  good 


60  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

for  her,"  Deborah  said  warning-ly.  "  And  you  hold 
her  as  if  you  thought  she  was  going  to  break." 

"  My  baby  isn't  brittle,"  Esther  returned  gaily. 

Lucy  looked  at  the  mother's  bright  face.  "  There 
is  such  a  thing  as  happiness  in  the  world,"  she 
thought. 

After  the  Forsyths  had  gone  to  their  rooms  to  get 
ready  for  tea,  Miss  Letitia  said :  "  Jack  has  grown  a 
great  deal.  He  is  much  more  of  a  boy  than  he  was. 
I  foresee  we  shall  have  trouble  with  him." 

To  which  Miss  Deborah  replied,  "  Yes,  I  am  sorry 
he  is  so  rough.  I  don't  know  what  we  shall  do  with 
Mr.  Gray." 

"  It  is  even  worse  than  I  expected,"  confessed 
Miss  Letitia.  "  Lily  is  less  quiet  too.  I  don't  know 
how  I  am  going  to  stand  the  noise.  I  don't  know 
what  Esther's  nerves  are  made  of.  I  am  thankful 
I  never  married." 

"  I  am  glad  I  never  did.  I  thank  heaven  every 
day  of  my  life  that  I  haven't  a  husband,"  declared 
Miss  Deborah. 

Lucy  said  nothing.  Was  Letitia,  who  had  been 
the  beauty  and  belle  of  Eppingham  in  her  youth, 
really  satisfied  with  her  unstimulating  life  of  indo- 
lence of  body,  joined  to  gentle  activity  of  mind? 
Was  this  what  it  meant  to  have  ceased  to  be  young  ? 
Should  she  herself,  in  the  years  to  come,  learn  to  be 
contented  with  her  life  of  trifles  ?  Would  there  ever 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  61 

be  a  time  when  she  would  not  look  with  envious  eyes 
at  the  women  who,  like  Esther,  had  the  fuller  life, 
with  its  greater  cares  but  higher  happiness?  Deborah 
seemed  satisfied  too,  but  hers  was  the  content  of  the 
active  woman  who  fills  every  hour  with  loving,  if 
sometimes  mistaken,  service.  They  both  seemed 
happy  with  what  they  had  and  to  crave  nothing 
more.  Was  it  because  they  had  chosen  their  own 
lives,  while  she  had  been  refused  the  choice  ?  How 
strange  that  this  noisy  inroad  of  life  from  the  larger 
world,  that  filled  her  with  such  a  keen  sensation  of 
joy,  should  be  merely  tolerated  by  them! 

"Lucy,  have  you  seen  the  cat?"  Miss  Deborah 
asked  two  evenings  later. 

"  No.     Didn't  you  bring  him  in?  " 

"  Of  course  I  did.  I  took  him  out  for  a  little 
exercise,  as  usual,  and  then  I  chained  him  up  in  the 
yard.  I  do  wish  the  Simondses  would  keep  their 
chickens  in  the  cellar,  it  would  make  life  so  much 
simpler  for  us,"  she  said,  with  the  gleam  of  humor 
in  her  eyes  that  always  accompanied  an  especially 
preposterous  remark.  "  Then  I  brought  him  in  and 
put  him  in  the  kitchen,  as  I  always  do.  And  now 
I  can't  find  him.  Children,"  as  Jack  and  Lily  came 
rushing  into  the  room,  "  have  you  seen  Mr.  Gray?  " 

"  I  let  him  out,"  said  Jack. 

"  You  let  him  out!    You  naughty  boy!    He  will 


62  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

stay  out  all  night,  and  probably  be  chewed  up  by 
a  bigger  cat.  Oh,  my  dear,  dear  Mr.  Gray !  Jack, 
didn't  you  know  you  were  very  naughty?  " 

"  He  seemed  to  want  to  get  out  awfully,  Aunt 
Deborah.  He  was  mewing  like  fury.  I  didn't  know 
it  was  naughty,  truly  I  didn't.  He  is  awfully  brave, 
Aunt  Deborah,  I  guess  he'll  do  most  of  the  chewing 
up." 

"  I  suppose  he'll  eat  about  a  dozen  of  the  Si- 
mondses'  chickens,"  she  said  grimly.  "  If  you  had 
only  waited  until  I  had  given  him  his  supper !  But 
he  is  as  hungry  as  a  hawk.  Well,  the  only  thing 
we  can  do  now  is  to  go  out  and  see  if  we  can  find 
him." 

They  made  an  imposing  procession  as  they  set 
forth,  Miss  Deborah  and  Lucy  in  the  rear,  while 
Lily  and  Jack  dashed  madly  forward. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  called  Miss  Letitia  from 
the  window,  and  when  she  was  told  she,  too,  de- 
scended into  the  arena.  Bridget  joined  them  with  a 
saucer  of  milk  in  her  hand,  while  John  and  Esther, 
who  were  just  returning  from  a  walk,  increased  the 
numbers  of  the  search  party.  Alas!  Nothing  was 
to  be  seen  of  Mr.  Gray  in  the  Wyatts'  premises, 
so  they  proceeded  to  their  next-door  neighbor's 
house. 

Frances  Simonds  was  sitting  on  the  back  piazza. 
sewing,  when  they  approached. 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  63 

"  How  delightful  this  is ! "  she  exclaimed,  think- 
ing they  had  come  for  an  afternoon  call.  Bridget 
was  in  the  background,  and  Frances  had  not  caught 
sight  of  her  and  the  saucer  of  milk. 

"  We  are  looking  for  Mr.  Gray,"  Miss  Deborah 
explained.  "  By  an  accident " — this  was  generous 
of  her — "  he  got  out  of  the  kitchen " 

"  I  let  him  out,"  said  Jack,  who  liked  the  glory  of 
the  exploit.  "  He  was  mewing  awfully,  and  I 
thought  he  would  be  happier " 

"  Goodness !  "  said  Frances,  rising  hastily,  "  I 
hope  he  hasn't  caught  any  of  our  chickens." 

The  chickens  were  safe,  which  seemed  to  prove 
that  Mr.  Gray's  evening  stroll  had  been  taken  in  the 
opposite  direction,  so  the  little  company  changed  its 
course.  Most  of  the  party  returned  discouraged  to 
the  house,  but  Miss  Deborah  and  the  children  faith- 
fully hunted  far  and  near,  but  although  some  persons 
went  so  far  as  to  say  they  had  seen  a  gray  cat,  no  one 
had  any  definite  news  to  give,  and  gray  cats  were 
plentiful  in  the  neighborhood. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Miss  Deborah  that  evening,  "  I 
feel  as  badly  as  if  Mr.  Gray  were  a  person,  worse, 
for  people  know  when  they  are  doing  wrong.  To 
think  of  that  poor,  dear  creature  out  all  night.  He 
has  never  been  out  a  single  night  in  his  life,  bless 
his  dear  heart." 

"  It  is  beginning  to  rain.     I  had  a  presentiment 


64  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

that  there  would  be  trouble  if  the  Forsyths  came  on 
this  summer,"  said  Miss  Letitia  ominously. 

Miss  Letitia  went  to  bed  and  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
just,  Lucy  worried  a  great  deal  and  woke  several 
times  in  the  night,  while  Miss  Deborah  sat  up  until 
after  twelve  o'clock,  hoping  in  vain  for  the  prod- 
igal's return.  When  she  at  last  went  to  bed  her 
sleep  was  broken  by  troubled  dreams.  At  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning  she  was  wakened  by  heart- 
piercing  mews.  She  rose  hastily  and  joyfully  let 
Mr.  Gray  in  at  the  door  that  opened  on  the  upper 
piazza.  He  looked  humbled  and  chastened.  One 
ear  had  received  a  wound,  and  his  poor  fur  was 
draggled  by  the  rain. 

"  Dear  boy,"  she  said  catching  him  up  in  her  arms, 
'"  your  old  auntie  has  been  breaking  her  heart  over 
you.  Life  would  be  a  dreary  affair  without  my 
darling  boy.  You  are  worth  a  dozen  baby  Marys, 
do  you  hear  ?  Lucy  can  make  a  fool  of  herself  over 
that  child  if  she  likes,  but  I  am  constant  to  my  old 
friends.  Poor  dear  creature,  to  have  his  precious 
ear  torn!  You  can  never  tell  me  about  the  fright 
and  horror  of  this  dreadful  night.  And  I  know  you 
have  been  jealous  of  the  baby,  dear.  What  do  I 
care  about  babies  ?  " 

Lucy  had  heard  the  mews.  She  went  quickly 
downstairs  and  arrived  in  time  to  hear  the  greater 
part  of  her  sister's  speech.  "  If  she  will  only  keep 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  65 


on  feeling  so !  "  she  thought.  "  Mr.  Gray  is  a  per- 
fect dear — for  a  cat — he  is  a  great  deal  better  than 
nothing,  but  the  baby  is  worth  a  dozen  Mr.  Grays!  " 

To  steal  upstairs  to  the  nursery,  to  sit  on  the  floor 
by  the  hour  together  with  baby  Mary,  to  hand  her 
a  spool  of  thread  or  a  rattle,  merely  to  have  her 
drop  it  with  laughing  glee,  in  order  that  her  de- 
voted relative  might  pick  it  up, — to  repeat  this  per- 
formance over  and  over  again,  was  the  greatest 
happiness  Lucy  had  known  for  years. 

"  Lucy,  you  must  make  a  stand,  or  you  will  be  im- 
posed on,"  Miss  Deborah  informed  her  a  few  days 
later.  "  Esther  is  a  dear  child,  but  it  isn't  in  human- 
nature  not  to  take  advantage  of  a  bridge  over  a 
stream,  when  you  want  to  go  across,  even  if  the 
bridge  is  made  by  the  prostrate  body  of  a  devoted 
relative.  Esther  had  much  better  stay  at  home  and 
look  after  her  own  baby.  "There  is  no  occasion  for 
her  seeing  so  much  of  her  girl  friends,  and  she  and 
John  have  surely  been  married  long  enough  not  to 
need  so  many  tete-a-tete  drives." 

"  But  I  love  to  take  care  of  the  baby,  and  Esther 
knows  she  is  giving  me  the  greatest  possible  hap- 
piness in  letting  me  do  it.  Nora  takes  all  the  re- 
sponsibility. I  am  delighted  to  give  Esther  a  little 
rest.  And  as  for  the  drives,  just  think  how  many 
times  John  and  Esther  have  taken  two  of  us  with 
them.  I  am  sure  they  are  most  considerate." 
5 


66  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  they  are  as  considerate  as  you  can 
expect  two  such  heedless  young  things  to  be.  The 
modern  parent  is  a  profound  mystery  to  me.  In  my 
day  people  took  all  the  care  of  their  babies,  or  else 
the  bigger  children  looked  after  the  little  ones. 
Many  a  time  I  have  trundled  you  about  in  your 
baby-carriage  when  I  was  longing  to  play  '  Hi-spy ' 
with  Letitia  and  the  other  girls." 

"  It  was  a  shame.  I  wish  mother  could  have 
afforded  a  nursery-maid." 

That  evening  as  the  Wyatts  were  sitting  around 
their  cheerful  tea-table,  they  heard  shrieks  issuing 
from  the  baby's  room,  as  Esther  came  out  and  shut 
the  door.  John  was  taking  tea  with  his  classmate, 
Ned  Simonds,  and  it  was  Nora's  evening  out.  Her 
evenings  out,  by  the  way,  were  of  frequent  occur- 
rence, for  she  was  a  young  thing  and  needed  diver- 
sion. 

The  sisters  looked  at  each  other  for  a  moment  in 
a  silence  too  shocked  for  words.  At  last  Miss 
Letitia  said,  "  Do  you  suppose  she  is  going  to  leave 
that  child  crying  like  that?  " 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 

Presently  Esther  came  gaily  into  the  room.  She 
had  been  playing  tennis,  and  had  come  home  just  in 
time  to  give  the  baby  her  supper  and  put  her  to  bed. 
Esther  had  on  her  bicycle  skirt,  and  her  pretty  hair 
was  curling  in  little  rings  around  her  face,  while  the 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  67 

exercise  had  given  her  a  color  even  brighter  than 
usual. 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry  to  be  late,  Aunt  Deborah," 
she  said.  "  We  were  having  a  most  exciting  tennis 
match ;  John  and  I  played  against  Frances  and  Ned 
Simonds,  and  we  beat  them,  although  we  did  it  by 
the  skin  of  our  teeth.  I  thought  that  was  doing 
pretty  well  for  a  humdrum  pair  from  New  York 
city.  I  didn't  have  time  to  do  my  hair,  or  change 
my  dress.  I  will  after  tea.  Oh,  do  you  mind  ?  " 
she  added,  noticing  the  gathering  cloud  on  the  faces 
of  her  aunts. 

"  I  am  wondering  how  you  can  leave  that  poor 
child  screaming,  upstairs,"  Miss  Deborah  said. 

Esther  laughed.  "  It  is  nothing  but  temper.  She 
didn't  want  me  to  come  downstairs ;  the  doctor  told 
me  not  to  humor  her,"  she  added,  as  she  helped  her- 
self to  tomato  salad.  "  If  I  had  stayed  with  her  to- 
night, she  would  howl  like  that  every  evening  when 
we  leave  her.  Poor  little  soul,  it  seemed  very  hard- 
hearted to  come  off;  but  she'll  get  over  it  in  a 
minute." 

Lucy  wondered  how  any  mother  could  take  those 
heart-breaking  screams  so  calmly,  Miss  Deborah  felt 
indignant,  and  Miss  Letitia  was  driven  nearly 
frantic  by  the  noise. 

"  Don't  you  think  somebody  had  better  go  up- 
stairs and  stop  her  ?  "  she  asked.  "  I  have  had  a 


68  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

bad  headache  all  day,  and  although  I  dare  say  the 
discipline  of  leaving  her  alone  may  be  good  for  her, 
it  is  just  a  little  hard  on  me." 

"  Oh,  you  poor  dear,"  said  Esther,  looking  re- 
gretfully at  her  salad,  "  1  never  thought  of  that. 
I'll  go  right  up  myself,"  and  she  rose  hastily. 

"  Let  me  go,"  Lucy  entreated.  "  I  have  finished 
my  supper." 

"  Lucy,  you  haven't  eaten  enough  to  keep  a  bird 
alive,"  said  Miss  Deborah  reproachfully.  "  Let 
Esther  manage  her  own  baby." 

Lucy  gently  pushed  Esther  back  into  her  seat. 
"  I  would  like  to  go  to  her,"  she  said. 

She  ran  swiftly  upstairs.  Mary  was  already  cry- 
ing less  violently.  Her  rage  had  given  way  to  grief. 
If  she  had  the  Forsyth  temper,  she  had  also  inherited 
the  Norris  disposition  to  make  the  best  of  things. 
She  was  sitting  up  in  her  crib  and  her  two  dimpled 
hands  were  put  helplessly  up  to  her  rosy  face,  while 
the  tears  stood  in  her  reproachful  blue  eyes. 

"  You  darling,"  Lucy  cried,  catching  her  up  and 
kissing  her  with  passionate  tenderness.  "  You  little 
dear.  Come  to  Aunt  Lucy,  come,  dear,  dear  baby, 
and  we'll,  '  Ride  a  cock  horse  to  Banbury  Cross.'  " 

The  baby  was  much  pleased  with  this  invitation, 
and  subsequent  events  proved  that  she  was  not  too 
young  to  learn  the  lesson  of  cause  and  effect.  When 
she  was  in  New  York  she  cried  in  vain,  nobody  in- 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  69 

vaded  her  solitude,  but  here  it  required  only  a  few 
screams  to  bring  a  kind,  yellow-haired  lady  with  a 
gently  rustling  gown,  who  took  her  out  of  her 
wretched  crib,  and  danced  her  on  her  knees,  and  this 
friendly  Aunt  Lucy  would  stay  until  she  was  fairly 
asleep,  and  it  was  much  more  sociable.  Then  there 
was  one  never-to-be-forgotten  evening  when  the 
yellow-haired  aunt  was  very  tired,  and  the  short, 
stout  aunt  came  upstairs  in  her  place. 

"  Lucy,"  Miss  Deborah  had  said,  "  you  are  getting 
perfectly  worn  out  with  the  vagaries  of  that  imp  of 
a  child.  John  and  Esther  ought  not  to  have  gone 
out  to  tea  when  Nora  was  out  too.  No,  you  shall 
not  get  off  that  sofa,  I  forbid  it.  I'll  go  up  to  Mary. 
I  can  make  her  behave  herself  in  two  minutes." 

Lucy  looked  at  the  clock,  and  became  more  and 
more  jealous  as  the  time  passed  and  her  sister  did 
not  come  down.  Ten  minutes  went  by,  quarter  of 
an  hour,  twenty  minutes,  it  was  a  shame,  baby  Mary 
would  get  to  love  Deborah  best,  people,  as  well  as 
cats,  always  did  sooner  or  later,  and  no  wonder, 
Lucy  was  obliged  to  own  with  a  remorseful  sigh. 
There  never  was  a  more  unselfish,  spontaneous, 
whole-souled  woman  than  her  sister  Deborah. 

Miss  Deborah,  meanwhile,  had  approached  the 
baby  with  feelings  of  exasperation.  Of  course  Lucy 
had  spoiled  the  child.  Lucy  always  did  spoil  every- 
body. If  no  one  had  gone  up  to  Mary  that  first 


70  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

evening  no  one  need  ever  have  gone.  Esther  had 
been  right,  she  knew  the  characteristics  of  her  child 
better  than  they  did,  but  the  mischief  had  been  done, 
and  now  it  was  for  her,  Deborah  Wyatt,  to  dis- 
cipline this  small  piece  of  humanity,  as  she  had  dis- 
ciplined the  baby's  grandmother  and  her  great-aunt 
Lucy. 

"  Well,  Mary  Forsyth,"  she  began,  as  she  entered 
the  nursery,  "  this  is  a  pretty  piece  of  business !  To 
keep  three  quiet  maiden-ladies  in  a  stew  like  this 
every  evening.  Either  you  howl  until  your  aunt 
Letitia  is  ready  for  the  '  Nervine,'  or  else  your  poor 
aunt  Lucy,  dear,  delicate  child,  has  to  spend  her 
evening  with  you.  I  am  positively  ashamed  of  you. 
You  are  a  disgrace  to  the  family.  Do  you  hear?  " 

Baby  Mary  heard.  How  much  she  understood  it 
were  difficult  to  say,  but  she  stopped  crying  and  fast- 
ened her  blue  eyes  on  the  rosy  face  of  her  aunt  with 
a  fascinated  gaze.  The  next  moment  she  electrified 
her  by  saying,  "  Debba." 

"  Oh,  the  darling  child,"  cried  Miss  Deborah. 
"  She  is  trying  to  say  my  name,  and  she  hasn't  once 
tried  to  say  '  Lucy '  or  '  Letitia.'  The  dear,  pre- 
cious, amusing  little  monkey!  Dear  baby,  you  must 
go  to  sleep,  but  I  don't  get  up  to  the  nursery  very 
often,  so  first  I'll  say  '  Robert  Barnes,  fellow  fine/ 
to  you,  once,  only  once,  remember,"  and  she  lifted 
her  out  of  the  crib. 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  71 

Miss  Deborah  sat  down  in  the  low  chair,  and  turn- 
ing up  one  tiny  soft  pink  foot  she  patted  it  vigor- 
ously as  she  repeated  the  childish  classic.  When  it 
came  to — 

' '  Here  a  nail  and  there  a  prod  ; 
Now  good  Sir,  your  horse  is  shod," 

she  pinched  the  little  foot  with  a  will  and  tossed  it 
vigorously  in  the  air.  Mary  was  delighted.  She 
laughed  uproariously,  and  put  out  the  other  little 
foot  invitingly. 

"  Well,  just  once  more,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 

At  the  end  of  the  second  performance  the  baby 
put  out  her  right  foot  again. 

"  You  little  monkey,"  said  her  aunt.  "  No  more, 
positively  no  more." 

Mary  looked  thoughtful,  then  she  put  out  her 
left  foot,  and  in  accents  that  would  have  melted  a 
heart  of  stone  she  said,  "  Debba." 

When  Miss  Deborah  at  last  went  downstairs  her 
face  wore  the  noncommittal  look  of  a  person  who 
does  not  wish  to  be  questioned. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  evening  paper?  "  she  asked 
Lucy. 

"  Letitia  had  it  a  moment  ago.  She  has  just  gone 
upstairs  to  get  her  embroidery.  What  kept  you 
so  long?"  Lucy  inquired  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"Was  I  long?"  Miss  Deborah  demanded  with 


72  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

candid  innocence.  "  Mary  was  a  little  restless.  It 
took  longer  to  quiet  her  than  I  expected." 

It  was  in  vain  for  Miss  Deborah  to  try  to  keep  her 
new  relations  with  the  baby  a  secret,  for  that  young 
person  gave  the  situation  away,  the  very  next  morn- 
ing. When  she  was  brought  downstairs  and  her 
aunt  Lucy  was  going  to  take  her,  as  usual,  she 
shook  her  head,  and  looking  past  her  to  the  sprightly 
aunt  who  was  knitting  the  red  stripe  of  an  afghan, 
she  said,  "  Debba." 

"  So  you  taught  her  to  say  your  name  last  night?  " 
Lucy  asked,  with  that  stab  at  the  heart  with  which 
she  was  only  too  familiar. 

"  I  didn't.  Honestly  I  didn't.  The  witch  sud- 
denly said,  '  Debba,'  out  of  the  whole  cloth.  I 
couldn't  have  been  more  startled  if  the  gilt  cock  on 
the  Browns'  stable  were  to  begin  to  crow.  The 
monkey  looks  so  small,  and  as  if  her  mind  were  just 
a  vacant  sheet  of  paper.  Say  '  Lucy,'  dear.  That 
is  a  much  prettier  name.  '  Lucy,  Lucy.'  " 

"  Debba." 

"  No,  '  Lucy.'  " 

"  Debba." 

Mary  laughed.  The  Wyatt  sense  of  humor  had 
evidently  been  transmitted  to  her. 

"You  are  an  ungrateful  little  wretch.  Aunt 
Lucy  is  the  person  who  is  a  slave  to  you." 

"  Debba,"  and  she  put  out  her  foot. 


Mr.  Gray's  Rival  73 

"  Oh,  you  want  me  to  say,  '  Robert  Barnes,  fel- 
low fine/  do  you  ?  I  know  a  great  many  nicer  things 
than  that.  If  I  am  to  be  manager  of  a  theatre  I 
will  at  least  have  a  variety  in  the  plays,"  and  taking 
the  baby  in  her  lap  Miss  Deborah  began,  "  This  lit- 
the  pig  went  to  market,  this  little  pig  stayed  at 
home,"  and  so  on  down  the  line  of  Mary's  small 
fingers. 

"  I  am  so  glad  we  came  on  this  summer,"  Esther 
confided  to  her  husband  a  fortnight  later.  "  I 
was  afraid  the  baby  would  be  too  much  for  your 
aunts.  They  were  used  to  the  other  children,  and 
knew  what  to  expect,  but  the  baby  was  an  unknown 
quantity.  I  didn't  think  Aunt  Deborah  would  be  so 
devoted  to  her." 

"  That  was  only  because  you  didn't  know  Aunt 
Deborah." 

"  Well,  I  know  her  now.  I  used  to  be  afraid  of 
her,  before  I  was  married,  but  she  is  the  dearest  old 
thing  in  the  world.  I  declare  she  grows  younger 
every  day.  Before  long  she " 

"  You  see  I  was  right  in  vetoing  your  proposition 
to  go  to  a  boarding-house,"  John  broke  in.  "  It 
seemed  a  pity  that  three  ladies  with  such  a  wealth 
of  affection  should  lavish  it  all  on  a  cat." 

Mr.  Gray,  w;ho  was  lying  on  the  hearth-rug, 
looked  as  if  he  had  his  own  views  on  this  subject. 

"  Poor  old  fellow,"  said  Esther,  taking  the  cat 


74  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

up  in  her  arms,  "  don't  mind  what  John  says.  He 
is  nothing  but  a  clumsy  man.  You  are  nicer  than 
he  is  in  ever  so  many  ways.  You  never  interrupt, 
and  you  always  let  me  have  the  last  word." 

"  And  in  this  case  the  last  word  is  that  the 
baby "  John  began. 

"  Is  even  nicer  than  Mr.  Gray,"  she  finished. 


THE  NEWHALL  FARM 


IV 

THE  NEWHALL  FARM 

"  T     UCY,  if  it  doesn't  rain  tomorrow,  will  you 

I  j  go  to  the  Newhall  farm  with  me  to  buy  a 
cow?"  Miss  Deborah  asked. 

The  Newhall  farm  brought  up  such  a  host  of 
memories  to  Lucy  that  she  was  silent  for  a  moment, 
half-longing,  half-dreading  to  accept  the  invitation. 

"Won't  Letitia  go  with  you?"  she  inquired. 

"  Letitia !  Letitia  would  never  be  satisfied  with 
any  cow  that  walks  this  earth,  unless  it  gave  twenty- 
four  quarts  of  milk  a  day,  half  cream,  and  had  un- 
rivaled beauty  into  the  bargain.  No,  thank  you. 
I  have  taken  Letitia's  advice  too  often.  She  would 
want  to  drive  all  around  the  country  to  a  dozen 
farms,  and  see  twenty  cows,  before  she  decided, 
and  it  would  end  in  our  not  getting  any,  or  making 
a  Hobson's  choice  just  as  the  baby  was  leaving,  and 
as  I  am  investing  in  a  cow  so  that  Mary  can  have 
pure  milk,  I'd  rather  get  it  while  she's  here,  espe- 

77 


78  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

cially  as  I'm  buying  the  animal  with  John's  money. 
I  thought  we  would  take  our  tea  with  us." 

"  If  we  are  going  to  have  a  picnic  the  children  will 
enjoy  coming  too." 

"  No,  thank  you.  The  children  are  all  very  well 
in  their  way,  but  I  want  my  '  afternoon  out,'  and  I 
should  like  your  company." 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  cows,"  Lucy  ob- 
jected. 

"  Neither  do  I,  but  old  Peter  Newhall  is  an  hon- 
est '  soul.  He  would  never  palm  off  an  inferior 
cow  on  me." 

On  the  rare  occasions  when  Deborah  and  Lucy 
went  anywhere  without  Letitia,  there  was  a  certain 
freedom,  a  childishness  in  their  joy  of  which  they 
were  half  ashamed.  They  had  to  go  through  the 
form  of  asking  her  to  take  the  drive  with  them,  for 
otherwise  her  feelings  would  have  been  hurt. 

"  Letitia,"  Deborah  said,  "  do  you  care  to  go  to 
the  Newhall  farm  with  Lucy  and  me  to-morrow? 
I  am  meaning  to  buy  my  cow  there." 

"  Why  do  you  take  that  long  drive  ?  There 
must  be  good  cows  nearer  home." 

"  Lucy  and  I  don't  mind  the  drive.  We  shall 
make  it  easy  by  taking  our  supper  with  us  and  eating 
it  under  a  tree." 

There  was  a  wicked  gleam  in  Miss  Deborah's 
eyes  as  she  made  this  statement. 


The  Newhall  Farm  79 

"  If  there  is  one  thing  I  dislike  more  than  an- 
other it  is  eating  out  of  doors,"  Miss  Letitia  re- 
turned. "  I  have  no  fondness  for  gypsy  ways, 
and  then  it  has  rained  so  hard  the  grass  will  be  damp, 
and  lastly,  I  am  not  partial  to  ants." 

And  so  it  happened  that  Miss  Deborah  and  Lucy 
started  off  the  next  afternoon  in  a  buggy.  It  may 
have  been  selfish,  Miss  Deborah  was  perfectly 
willing  to  admit  that  it  was,  when  she  saw  Lily  and 
Jack  eying  the  vehicle  and  the  lunch-basket  with 
wistful  eyes,  but  the  children  had  already  partici- 
pated in  four  picnics,  and  it  was  still  early  in  July. 
This  afternoon,  as  they  drove  through  the  village, 
Lucy's  heart  was  as  light  as  if  she  had  not  fallen  a 
victim  to  Deborah's  stronger  will,  and  her  sense 
of  injury,  which  was  all  the  more  poignant,  because 
unexpressed,  was  lulled  to  sleep.  There  was  an 
especial  congeniality  between  the  two  sisters,  in 
spite  of  a  lack  of  comprehension.  Lucy's  gentle- 
ness and  exquisite  refinement  gave  Deborah  the 
keenest  pleasure,  while  Deborah's  humor  and  her 
practical  point  of  view  were  as  refreshing  as  a  tonic 
to  her  more  sensitively  organized  sister.  To-day 
Lucy  was  captivated  anew  by  Deborah.  No  wonder 
the  baby  loved  her ! 

"  We  have  six  hours  in  which  to  behave  as  badly 
as  we  like,"  Miss  Deborah  announced.  "  We  have 
no  standard  to  set  for  the  young." 


8o  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

It  was  a  glorious  afternoon.  The  sun  had  come 
out  that  morning  for  the  first  time  in  three  days, 
and  was  shining  with  a  prodigal  liberality  which 
suggested  that  he  was  refreshed  by  his  holiday. 
Trees,  grass,  and  shrubs  had  all  profited  by  the  rain 
and  were  a  vivid  green.  The  raspberry  bushes 
were  white  with  starry  blossoms  along  the  roadside, 
and  the  irregular  stone  walls  gave  a  touch  of  somber 
color  to  the  otherwise  resplendent  landscape.  A 
couple  of  song-sparrows  trilled  out  their  liquid  notes 
as  the  sisters  drove  by.  Lucy  had  suffered  in  the 
past;  her  imagination  and  her  common  sense  alike 
told  her  that  she  would  suffer  again  in  the  future, 
but  on  this  marvelous  July  day  she  could  only  add  a 
silent  song  of  thanksgiving  to  the  more  musical 
but  no  more  heartfelt  chorus  of  praise  of  the  song 
sparrows.  As  they  approached  the  Newhall  farm 
memories  detached  themselves  from  the  haze  of  the 
distant  past,  recollections  that  were  sometimes 
sweet,  sometimes  intolerably  bitter.  To-day  the 
sweet  predominated.  Lucy  saw  herself  as  a  tiny 
girl  running  barefoot  in  the  fields  with  an  older 
girl  and  boy,  learning  a  wealth  of  childish  lore  about 
birds  and  flowers  and  the  signs  of  the  sky ;  reveling 
in  a  love  of  nature  so  keen  it  was  almost  intoxicat- 
ing. She  had  spent  a  part  of  six  happy  summers 
in  her  childhood  at  the  Newhall  farm.  It  was  not 
until  she  was  a  girl  of  thirteen  and  Alec  a  boy  of 


The  Newhall  Farm  81 

seventeen  that  it  ever  crossed  her  mind  there  was  a 
wide  gulf  fixed  between  them.  But  that  summer 
Letitia  had  passed  a  part  of  the  holiday  with  her,  and 
had  sowed  the  first  seeds  of  worldly  wisdom  in  her 
mind.  She  told  her  that  it  had  been  all  very  well  to 
be  friends  with  Sophy  and  Alec  when  they  were  chil- 
dren, but  she  was  getting  too  big  a  girl  now;  they 
were  in  a  different  class  from  herself.  She  must  be 
polite  to  them,  of  course;  it  would  be  unkind  to 
hurt  their  feelings,  but  she  must  be  on  her  guard. 
Before  that  summer  the  Newhall  farm  had  stood  for 
Paradise  to  Lucy ;  but  after  the  serpent  had  entered 
in  and  she  had  eaten  of  the  fruit  of  the  tree  of  knowl- 
edge, the  old  happiness  was  gone.  In  spite  of  later 
events,  which  had  proved  to  the  satisfaction  of  her 
family  that  Alec  was  the  last  man  to  whom  they 
would  have  been  willing  to  entrust  her  happiness, 
such  was  the  glamour  of  those  old  days  that  Lucy 
never  could  think  of  that  eager  young  face  and  those 
ardent  dark  eyes  without  emotion.  Whatever  he 
was  in  later  life,  and  even  yet  she  had  not  become 
used  to  the  surprise  and  pain  of  it,  he  had  been  a 
delightful  young  fellow,  with  a  charm  that  had 
taken  the  flavor  out  of  other  men  for  her  ever 
since.  And  now  this  afternoon  she  was  to  see  his 
father  for  the  first  time  in  many  years ! 
The  road  led  through  woods  that  were  alive  with 

birds  and  fragrant  with  flowers,  and  up  hills  whence 
6 


82  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

they  could  get  a  view  of  still  higher  hills  misty  on 
the  horizon,  and  everywhere  there  was  the  enchant- 
ment that  Nature  has  for  her  lovers,  an  enchant- 
ment that  was  so  great  as  for  the  moment  to  coun- 
terbalance all  the  joys  of  youth  in  Lucy's  mind. 

"  Life  is  a  game  of  consequences,"  said  Miss 
Deborah.  "  One  thing  follows  another  just  as  it 
does  in  '  The  House  that  Jack  Built.'  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lucy,  softly.  She  was  thinking  of 
her  own  past,  and  supposed  that  Deborah  had  it  in 
mind  also. 

"  Who  would  have  thought,"  Miss  Deborah  went 
on,  "  that  John's  marrying  Esther  Norris  would 
have  been  the  indirect  cause  of  my  buying  a 
cow?" 

In  her  relief  that  her  sister  was  not  trenching  on 
any  more  personal  ground,  Lucy's  laugh  was  almost 
hysterical. 

"  I  won't  deny  that  I  have  been  longing  for  years 
for  a  good  excuse  for  buying  a  cow,"  Miss  Deborah 
continued,  "  an  excuse  that  would  justify  itself  to 
Letitia  and  to  the  neighborhood.  Now,  to  tell  you 
the  honest  truth  (I  would  not  own  it  to  a  soul  but 
you,  Lucy,  but  you  are  as  secret  as  the  grave),  I 
am  glad  that  Mr.  Gray  is  to  have  the  best  of  milk, 
poor  dear  creature,  instead  of  milkman's  milk  di- 
luted by  water;  but  you  can't  buy  a  cow  on  account 
of  your  cat  and  keep  your  self-respect  under  the 


The  Newhall  Farm  83 

gibes  of  your  neighbors.  Letitia  will  like  the  good 
milk  as  well  as  anyone,  and  she  can't  call  it  an 
extravagance,  so  long  as  John  is  generous  enough 
to  make  us  a  present  of  the  cow.  Of  course  it 
isn't  as  if  the  animal  wouldn't  eat  and  didn't  have  to 
be  taken  care  of.  I  can  see  that  as  well  as  Letitia 
can,  but  Patrick  will  take  care  of  her  for  very  little 
more  money  than  we  pay  him  at  present,  and  we  can 
sell  milk  to  the  Simondses." 

They  were  driving  up  the  last  hill  now,  and  the 
weather-beaten  farmhouse,  gray  with  the  exposure 
of  years,  stood  out  in  sharp  relief  against  the  deep- 
blue  sky.  Lucy's  heart  beat  more  quickly  as  she 
caught  sight  of  the  wide  stone  step  that  stood'  before 
the  side  door,  and  the  cinnamon-roses  that  were 
blooming  with  the  same  luxuriance  with  which  they 
had  blossomed  in  her  childhood.  A  barefooted  girl 
and  boy  were  sitting  on  the  step  playing  shop,  with 
rose-leaves  for  money,  just  as  she  and  Alec  had 
done.  They  were  the  children  of  the  young  couple 
who  lived  with  Mr.  Newhall  to  take  care  of  him 
and  do  the  farm  work.  Old  Peter  Newhall  was 
expecting  Miss  Deborah,  and  came  out  to  greet  her 
with  that  combination  of  dignity  and  simplicity 
characteristic  of  the  free-born  American  of  the  hill 
country. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you  here  again,"  he  said. 
He  gave  her  a  scrutinizing  glance,  and  then  added, 


84  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

t{  You've  fleshed  up  considerable  since  I  saw  you 
last.  I  never  thought  you'd  be  so  good-looking." 

Miss  Deborah  laughed,  and  turned  to  greet  the 
young  foreman. 

"And  this  is  little  Lucy!"  Mr.  Newhall  said, 
with  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  his  voice.  "  Seems  as 
though  it  was  only  last  year  you  was  running  'round 
here  barefooted  with  my  children,  and  not  more 
than  knee-high  to  a  grasshopper,  and  now " 

"  Now  I  am  a  middle-aged  woman." 

"  Don't  call  yourself  that.  You're  a  young  thing 
yet.  Wait  until  you  are  eighty  years  old,  and  you'll 
find  you'll  look  back  to  the  age  you  are  now,  and 
think  it  hardly  more  than  girlhood." 

He  gave  her  a  long,  keen  look,  and  then  said, 
"  You  have  the  same  hair  and  eyes,  but  you've 
got  considerable  many  lines  in  your  face  for  one 
that  has  led  such  a  sheltered  life.  I  want  to  show 
you  my  garden.  Harry,  you  take  Miss  Deborah 
out  to  the  pasture,  and  let  her  be  looking  at  the 
cows;  if  she  don't  like  Cowslip,  mebby  Daisy'll 
suit  her,  and  then  there's  Dandelion.  I'll  come 
along  presently." 

Lucy  followed  Mr.  Newhall  to  the  old-fashioned 
garden  that  had  been  the  delight  of  her  childhood. 
Dyeletras  were  there,  and  hollyhocks,  sunflowers, 
petunias,  pansies,  larkspurs,  and  portulacca. 

"  The  dear  old  garden !  "  said  Lucy.     And  once 


The  Xevvhall  Farm  8$ 

more  she  saw  herself  as  a  barefooted  child  gathering 
nosegays  with  Alec,  and  his  dark  eyes  looked  at 
her  with  the  old  childish  confidence  before  the 
shadow  had  come  into  them. 

"  I  never  can  go  into  this  garden  without  think- 
ing of  Alec,"  said  Alec's  father  softly,  as  he  began 
to  pick  the  flowers.  "  You  won't  mind  an  old- 
fashioned  bokay  for  once,  will  you?  Picked  by  an 
old  man  in  memory  of  old  times?  I  know  it  ain't 
stylish  to  put  'em  in  all  together,  but  you  can  take 
'em  apart  when  you  get  'em  home." 

"  I  love  them  just  as  they  are,"  said  Lucy.  "  I 
could  not  spare  one.  It  is  like  assorted  recollec- 
tions," she  added  shyly. 

He  looked  at  her  sharply.  "  Now,  what  do  you 
mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  every  flower  tells  its  own  story, 
and  has  its  separate  association,  and  that  they  all 
speak  to  me  of  the  happiest  time  in  my  life." 
.  There  was  silence  between  them  for  a  moment, 
then  the  old  man  said  slowly,  "  You  seemed  so 
happy  together  I  never  could  understand  why  you 
couldn't  care  for  him  a  little  more.  Of  course  we 
were  plain  people,"  he  went  on,  "  and  your  folks 
held  their  heads  high,  especially  your  father  and 
Letitia.  They  say  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal ; 
it  ain't  true.  It  is  only  when  they  are  dead  they  are 
on  the  same  level.  Your  father  and  my  Alec  are 


86  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

lying  near  neighbors  now,  and  one  doesn't  hold  his 
head  any  higher  than  the  other." 

He  was  silent  again,  and  then  he  said,  "  Time  was 
I  was  as  sure  you  would  be  Alec's  wife  as  I  am  that 
we  are  both  standing  here." 

"  He  never  asked  me,"  said  Lucy  in  a  low  tone. 

Peter  Newhall  glanced  at  her  sharply,  but  her 
eyes,  looking  straight  into  his  face  with  their  old 
steadfastness,  assured  him  that  she  was  speaking 
the  truth. 

"  Is  that  so?  "  he  said.  "  There's  other  ways  of 
asking  besides  putting  a  question  in  plain  words,"  he 
continued,  presently.  "  If  he  never  asked  you,  it 
must  have  been  because  you  had  shown  him  what 
the  answer  would  be.  There  was  a  Sunday  night — 
I  never  shall  forget  that  Sunday  night  when  he'd 
been  to  meeting  in  Eppingham.  I  knew  very  well 
why  he  took  that  long  drive;  't  want  for  any  love 
of  the  Gospel.  Alec,  poor  fellow,  never  was  a  great 
hand  to  go  to  church,  and  when  he  came  back, 
and  I  asked  him  if  he  had  spoken  with  Lucy  Wyatt, 
he  turned  on  me  with  a  face  like  a  thunder-cloud. 
I  can't  exactly  remember  what  he  said,  only  he 
swore  at  me — poor  Alec,  he  wa'n't  one  to  swear  in 
general — and  he  told  me  he  never  wanted  to  hear 
Lucy  Wyatt's  name  again." 

Lucy's  mind  went  back  to  that  Sunday  morn- 
ing, and  she  recalled  all  the  incidents  connected  with 


The  Newhall  Farm  87 

it,  so  trifling  in  themselves,  so  momentous  in  their 
consequences.  It  was  after  Alec's  return  from  the 
West;  he  had  not  made  a  success  of  life  there. 
Even  at  the  time  she  could  see  that  her  father  and 
sisters  were  right  in  doubting  his  stability,  and  as 
she  and  Letitia  were  walking  to  church  together, 
Letitia  had  said,  "  I  dare  say  we  shall  see  Alec  New- 
hall.  If  we  do,  don't  stop  to  speak  to  him.  I 
wouldn't  cut  him  for  anything  in  the  world ;  it  is 
cruel  to  go  back  on  an  old  friend,  only,  if  he  tries 
to  speak  to  us,  we'll  bow  to  him  politely,  but  dis- 
tantly, as  if  his  being  at  home  or  in  the  West  were 
all  the  same  to  us.  It  is  kinder  to  him  in  the  end  to 
dash  his  hopes  at  once,  or  else  he  will  be  continually 
hanging  around  you,  now  he  has  come  home  for 
good." 

All  through  the  long  service  Lucy's  mind  was 
fixed  on  those  eager  dark  eyes  at  the  back  of  the 
church.  She  felt  that  they  were  riveted  on  her 
golden  hair  and  flowered  muslin  gown.  When  the 
service  was  over,  Letitia  drew  Lucy's  arm  through 
hers  and  took  her  up  to  thank  old  Mr.  Moorhouse 
for  his  sermon.  They  stood  there  for  some  time 
talking  to  one  person  and  another,  until  Lucy  was 
in  a  fever  of  impatience,  fearing  that  Alec  would 
have  gone  home,  but  when  they  came  out  into 
the  sunshine,  there  he  stood,  a  smile  on  his 
face,  a  happy  light  in  his  eyes,  one  hand  out- 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


stretched  to  greet  Miss  Letitia,  who  was  nearer 
him.  She  bowed  with  that  combination  of  dignity, 
distant  graciousness  and  icy  stiffness  of  which  she 
was  mistress.  An  empress  might  thus  have  greeted 
the  humblest  of  her  subjects.  Alec's  hand  fell  to 
his  side  and  his  expression  changed.  He  looked  at 
Lucy  with  an  appealing  glance  that  stirred  her  to 
her  heart's  core.  Her  impulse  was  to  brave  Letitia's 
displeasure  and  put  out  her  hand  to  greet  her  old 
playfellow  with  a  little  fragment  of  the  affection 
that  filled  her  heart.  She  longed  to  say,  "  Alec,  I 
ani  glad  you  have  come  home.  Won't  you  come  to 
see  me?  Can't  you  dine  with  us  to-day?"  She 
had  often  wondered  what  would  have  happened  if 
she  had  said  those  few  words.  Instead  of  that  the 
fear  of  Letitia,  joined  to  shyness  and  her  conscien- 
tious wish  not  to  encourage  Alec,  for  the  seeds  of 
worldliness  that  had  been  planted  in  her  mind  had 
grown,  and  she  was  by  no  means  sure  that  she 
wished  to  marry  him;  these  things  prevented  her 
yielding  to  her  first  impulse.  She  bowed  with  a 
softened  reproduction  of  her  sister's  nod  and  passed 
on.  She  could  not  measure  the  full  effect  of  such  a 
bow  coming  from  one  who  was  usually  so  gentle 
and  friendly.  In  the  days  that  followed,  she  still 
expected  a  call  from  Alec,  or  a  chance  meeting, 
some  occasion  in  which  she  could  retrieve  the  mis- 
chief done  in  that  half  minute.  But  Alec  went 


The  Newhall  Farm  89 

back  to  the  West,  instead  of  staying  to  be  the  prop 
of  his  father's  advancing  years,  and  when  in  the 
course  of  time  he  made  one  of  those  reckless  mar- 
riages that  good  women  living  sheltered  lives 
speak  of  with  bated  breath,  it  could  hardly  be  ex- 
pected that  Letitia  could  refrain  from  saying,  "  I 
told  you  so."  She  did  not  say  it  baldly  in  just  those 
words,  but  rang  the  changes  in  half  a  dozen 
ways  on  the  unreliability  of  Alec  Newhall  and  her 
sister's  lucky  escape.  It  would  have  been  a  great 
misfortune  if  Lucy  had  given  her  heart  to  a  man 
who,  besides  being  her  inferior  in  birth,  was  so  de- 
plorably lacking  in  moral  stamina.  Lucy  agreed 
with  Letitia.  She  summoned  pride  to  her  aid  and 
did  her  best  to  try  to  love  a  dull  young  man  who 
was  attracted  to  her. 

"  Poor  Alec,"  said  Alec's  father  softly. 

Lucy  came  back  to  the  present  with  a  start.  The 
bouquet  of  "  assorted  recollections "  was  almost 
finished.  Peter  Newhall  was  adding  to  the  bright 
array  of  gaudy  flowers  pansies  "  for  thought." 

"  I  know  he  never  set  out  to  do  wrong.  He 
wa'n't  headed  that  way  when  he  was  a  boy,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice.  "  He  had  good  impulses.  No  one 
who  loved  the  sky  and  the  birds  and  all  growing 
things  as  he  did  could  be  bad  at  heart." 

Lucy  was  silent. 

"  I  don't  want  you  to  feel  too  hard  towards  my 


QO  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

poor  boy.  There's  others  no  better  than  he  that 
don't  get  punished  half  so  hard,  and  there's  folks 
that  never  sinned,  because  they  wa'n't  tempted. 
There's  Frank  Hollis,  his  second  cousin,  who  was 
so  crazy  about  your  sister  Letitia.  Well,  when  she 
wouldn't  have  him,  he  took  up  with  my  Sophy,  and 
she's  been  a  devoted  wife  to  him  for  all  these  years. 
Frank  wa'n't  half  so  bright  as  my  boy  or  half  so 
pleasant-mannered,  but  he's  led  a  useful  life  and 
preached  the  gospel  for  more'n  thirty  years,  and 
my  boy  is  dead,  and  all  the  good  in  him  is  forgot- 
ten." 

"  It  is  not  forgotten,"  said  Lucy,  turning  her 
blue  eyes  towards  him  brimming  with  tears. 

"  Seems  though  the  Lord  punished  some  sins 
out  of  proportion  to  their  size,"  he  mused.  "  Frank 
was  cool  and  sort  o'  cautious,  and  my  boy  was  like 
quicksilver;  he  had  a  temper  and  too  much  pride, 
but  it  seemed  hard  that  one  should  be  so  successful 
and  the  other  so  unfortunate." 

"Lucy,  are  you  never  coming?"  called  Miss 
Deborah,  in  her  cheerful  contralto.  "  I  must  have 
your  advice  about  the  cow." 

Lucy  started  obediently  to  go  to  her  sister. 

"  Guess  you're  one  that's  obeyed  all  your  life," 
the  old  man  said,  significantly. 


COWSLIP 


COWSLIP 

IT  was  always  easy  for  Misr  Deborah  to  make  a 
choice,  and  she  had  chosen  Cowslip  with 
hardly  a  moment's  hesitation.  Therefore  it 
was  not  Lucy's  advice  she  wanted,  but  merely  the 
support  of  her  admiration.  Cowslip  was  a  pretty 
Alderney.  The  only  fault  that  could  be  found 
with  her  looks  was  a  white  patch  placed  on  her  face 
in  an  irregular  way,  which  Lucy  felt  instinctively 
would  be  very  trying  to  Letitia,  and  yet  it  did  not 
seem  of  sufficient  importance  to  prevent  the  pur- 
chase. So  Cowslip  became  the  property  of  the 
Wyatts,  and  Mr.  Gray  no  longer  reigned  supreme. 

When  the  cow  arrived  the  whole  family  went  out 
to  the  barn  to  see  her  installed,  and  John,  Esther, 
and  the  children  were  loud  in  her  praises.  Miss 
Letitia  looked  at  her  in  a  more  critical  spirit.  "  How 
many  cows  did  you  have  to  choose  from?"  she 
asked  Deborah. 

"  Three." 

93 


94  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  I  should  think  you  might  have  found  a  better- 
looking  one." 

"  Why,  I  love  that  deep  fawn  color,"  said  Esther. 

"  The  color  is  all  right,  but  that  white  patch  on 
her  face  drives  me  wild,  it  is  so  one-sided." 

"  I  didn't  think  about  that,"  said  Deborah. 

"  I  never  knew  any  one  with  so  little  esthetic 
sense  as  you  have,"  Letitia  remarked  patiently.  "  I 
should  have  bought  a  cow  that  was  not  conspicuous. 
However,  if  you  and  Lucy  like  her,  it  is  of  no  con- 
sequence whether  I  am  satisfied.  I  am  quite  accus- 
tomed to  accepting  the  choice  of  others.  Only  I 
can't  see  how  two  people  with  average  eyes  could 
have  looked  at  that  cow  without  noticing  that  the 
white  spot  gave  her  a  weird  expression.  Her  milk 
will  be  just  as  good,"  she  added,  with  an  assumption 
at  cheerfulness. 

Miss  Deborah's  pleasure  in  the  possession  of  the 
cow  was  considerably  dampened.  She  tried  to 
recollect  whether  Daisy  and  Dandelion  had  white 
spots  on  their  faces,  and  went  so  far  as  to  suggest 
that  they  might  effect  an  exchange. 

"  No,"  said  Miss  Letitia.  "  There  would  be  some 
out  about  the  others.  You  have  bought  her,  and  it 
is  best  to  keep  her." 

"  How  is  Peter  Newhall?  "  she  asked  Lucy,  that 
evening.  "  I  always  liked  him.  He  is  such  a  typi- 
cal farmer  of  the  old  school ;  a  quiet,  God-fearing 


Cowslip  95 


old  fellow.  It  is  hard  he  should  have  had  such  a 
trial  in  his  youngest  son.  Sophy  was  very  different. 
She  was  essentially  a  lady.  She  had  the  advantage 
of  being  sent  away  to  school,  and  her  acquaintance 
with  Deborah,  and  Clara  Hollis,  and  me  did  a  great 
deal  for  her.  I  always  liked  Sophy;  she  was  un- 
selfish and  good.  A  little  dull,  to  be  sure.  I  never 
could  see  why  a  man  like  Frank  Hollis  married  her, 
but  as  a  rule  men  seem  to  be  happier  with  dull  wives. 
Homer  Newhall  was  very  much  like  Sophy.  He 
never  would  have  set  the  river  on  fire.  I  have  no 
doubt  he  was  a  great  loss  to  his  wife.  It  is  hard 
she  should  have  to  come  down  to  taking  boarders.  I 
can't  think  where  Alec  got  his  reckless  disposition. 
There  must  have  been  bad  blood  on  the  mother's 
side  of  the  house." 

Lucy  made  an  excuse  to  leave  the  room.  Her 
cheeks  were  burning,  and  she  felt  stifled  with  the 
emotions  of  twenty  years. 

"  You  look  tired,  dear,"  said  Letitia.  "  I  was 
afraid  that  long  drive  would  be  too  much  for  you." 

"  I  have  a  little  headache." 

"  I  knew  it  would  be  bad  for  you,  taking  your 
supper  out  of  doors  and  sitting  on  the  damp  grass, 
but  I  am  tired  of  throwing  cold  water  on  your 
plans.  I  find  it  best  to  let  you  learn  by  experience." 

Miss  Letitia  had  nothing  but  the  highest  praise 


96  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

to  give  Cowslip's  milk  and  cream.  "  I  had  no  idea 
there  was  such  a  difference  between  cow's  milk  and 
milkman's  milk,"  she  observed  graciously. 

The  baby's  drooping  health  revived,  the  children 
took  long  draughts  of  milk  at  frequent  intervals, 
and  the  family  reveled  in  desserts  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  whipped  cream.  It  had  seemed  to  out- 
siders as  if  Mr.  Gray  were  as  prosperous  as  it  was 
possible  for  one  of  his  kind  to  be,  before  the  arrival 
of  Cowslip,  but  his  aunt  Deborah,  with  the  insight 
of  affection,  discovered  a  more  serene  expression  on 
his  face,  and  was  sure  there  was  an  addition  to  his 
weight  after  he  had  lived  for  a  fortnight  on  the 
best  of  milk.  They  were  a  very  happy  family  for 
a  month,  and  then,  owing  to  the  intense  August 
heat,  Cowslip  fell  ill. 

"  I  have  always  heard  that  Alderneys  are  more 
delicate  than  any  other  cows,"  Miss  Letitia  observed 
ominously  at  breakfast  one  morning. 

"  Look  here,  Letitia  Wyatt,"  said  Miss  Deborah, 
"  I  will  stand  a  great  deal  from  you,  but  that  is  a 
little  too  much.  The  next  time  we  have  a  cow  you 
may  choose  her,  and  see  to  the  whole  care  of  her. 
I  had  the  bother  of  buying  Cowslip,  and  I  have  had 
no  end  of  trouble  with  her  first  and  last,  and  I  won't 
stand  being  criticized." 

Letitia  looked  at  her  sister  reproachfully.  Deb- 
orah's occasional  outbreaks  of  temper  were  one  of 


Cowslip  97 


the  chief  trials  of  her  lot.  They  were  so  unreason- 
able, so  unexpected. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  gently,  "  I  was  not  criti- 
cising. I  was  merely  stating  a  fact."  Miss  Letitia 
had  never  ceased  to  be  thankful  that  she  had  in- 
herited her  mother's  even  temper. 

"  I  was  a  beast,"  Miss  Deborah  owned  remorse- 
fully. "  I  am  tired  out  with  anxiety  about  Cow- 
slip. She  is  a  dear  creature,  and  she  looked  at 
me  this  morning  with  such  sad,  reproachful  eyes, 
begging  me  to  do  something  to  help  her.  Heaven 
knows  I  would  spend  my  life  with  her,  if  it  would 
do  any  good." 

"  Why  don't  you  hold  an  umbrella  over  her,  Aunt 
Deborah  ?  "  Jack  suggested. 

"  I  have  been  thinking  of  something  of  the  kind. 
The  veterinary  surgeon  says  she  is  too  ill  to  be 
moved.  We  can't  even  get  her  into  the  shade. 
Patrick  has  tied  a  wet  sponge  to  her  horns,  but  she 
still  feels  the  heat.  I  proposed  to  Patrick  that  he 
should  make  some  sort  of  a  shelter  for  her,  but  he 
didn't  see  it  in  that  light.  He  was  '  driv'  with  other 
work,'  as  he  expressed  it.  That  is  the  trouble  with 
having  only  a  tenth  of  a  man.  When  I  am  rich 
I  shall  keep  a  whole  one.  I  wish  Laura  Macauley 
would  lend  me  her  sketching-umbrella." 

Lily  and  Jack  dashed  off  in  quest  of  Miss  Mac- 


98  John  Forsyte's  Aunts 

auley.  They  were  not  commissioned  to  do  so,  but 
thought  it  well  to  take  time  by  the  forelock. 

Laura  Macauley,  cool  and  self-contained,  was  sit- 
ting on  her  side  piazza,  with  the  latest  Atlantic 
Monthly  in  her  hands,  when  two  breathless,  dis- 
heveled children  rushed  up  to  her. 

"  Please,  Miss  Laura,  Aunt  Deborah  wants  to 
borrow  your  sketching-umbrella,"  Tack  panted. 

"  Your  Aunt  Deborah  wants  to  borrow  my  sketch- 
ing-umbrella ?"  Miss  Macauley  asked  incredulously. 
She  had  never  associated  the  fine  arts  with  Miss 
Deborah  Wyatt. 

"  It  is  for  the  cow,"  Lily  explained. 

Miss  Macauley  was  under  the  impression  that 
somebody  wanted  to  make  a  sketch  of  Miss  Deb- 
orah's favorite.  "Who  paints  at  your  house?" 
she  inquired. 

"  It  is  for  the  cow,"  Lily  repeated.  "  She  is  sick, 
and  we  thought  it  would  be  a  good  plan  to  hold  an 
umbrella  over  her,  and  yours  is  the  biggest  in  town." 

"  Did  your  Aunt  Deborah  send  you  here?  " 

"  She  didn't  exactly  send  us,"  Lily  confessed. 
"  She  just  wished  you  would  lend  her  the  umbrella, 
and  so  we  came  for  it  to  save  time." 

Miss  Macauley's  sense  of  humor  was  not  of  the 
keenest,  but  the  picture  of  Miss  Deborah  Wyati, 
who  had  always  scorned  the  amount  of  wasted  time 
that  the  sketching-umbrella  represented,  being  re- 


Cowslip  99 


duced  to  abjectly  borrow  it  for  her  cow  appealed 
even  to  her.  She  threw  back  her  head  and  laughed. 

"  The  cow  is  real  sick,"  said  Jack.  "  I  don't 
see  why  you  think  it's  so  funny." 

"  We've  got  it,  Aunt  Deborah,"  the  children  said 
a  little  later,  as  they  thrust  the  sketching-umbrella 
into  Miss  Deborah's  astonished  hands. 

"  My  dear  children !  Who  told  you  to  go  for  that 
umbrella?  " 

"  We  thought  we  would  surprise  you." 

"  I  was  only  joking.  I  never  dreamed  of  really 
borrowing  Laura's  sacred  umbrella.  Letitia,  do 
you  think  I  oughtto  send  it  back  ?  "  Miss  Deborah's 
outbreak  of  temper  had  left  her  in  a  chastened 
mood.  Under  these  circumstances  she  was  willing 
to  ask  her  sister's  advice. 

"  I  don't  know.    What  did  she  say,  children  ?  " 

"  She  laughed  and  laughed  when  she  heard  the 
cow  was  sick.  I  guess  she  wouldn't  think  it  was 
so  funny  if  it  was  her  cow.  And  she  said — what 
was  it  she  said,  Lily  ?  She  was  so  particular  for  us 
to  remember  it  exactly." 

"  She  said,  '  Please  give  my  compliments  to  your 
aunt  Deborah,  and  tell  her  I  am  glad  she  can  find 
such  a  good  use  for  my  sketching-umbrella.'  " 

"  You  may  as  well  keep  it,  as  she  was  kind  enough 
to  send  it,"  Letitia  counseled.  So  the  umbrella 
stayed.  Miss  Deborah  and  the  children  went  with 


ioo  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

it  to  the  enclosure  behind  the  garden,  where  the  cow 
was  stretched  limply  on  the  parched  August  grass. 
Miss  Deborah  planted  the  umbrella  firmly  in  the 
ground,  and  its  generous  shade  kept  the  sun  from 
poor  Cowslip's  head. 

"  There,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  when  her  work  was 
accomplished,  "  I  am  glad  that  umbrella  is  doing 
a  useful  deed  for  once  in  its  life.  Children,  run  in 
and  ask  your  aunt  Letitia  to  give  you  the  big  palm- 
leaf  fan  that  stands  on  the  top  of  the  right-hand 
book-case  in  the  library,  and  I  will  fan  this  poor 
creature;  the  flies  are  troubling  her;  and  bring  out 
the  little  camp-stool." 

There  was  nothing  funny  to  the  children  in  the 
picture  their  aunt  Deborah  made  as  she  sat  on  her 
camp-stool  that  hot  forenoon  waving  her  large 
palm-leaf  fan,  and  it  is  safe  to  assert  that  the  humor- 
ous side  did  not  strike  Cowslip.  Miss  Letitia  was 
amused  when  she  sallied  out  towards  twelve  o'clock 
to  see  how  her  sister  was  faring. 

"  Deborah,  you  look  too  absurd  in  your  short 
skirt  with  that  huge  fan  under  that  immense  um- 
brella. You  remind  me  of  a  toad  under  a  toad- 
stool. I  never  saw  anything  so  funny  in  my  life." 

"  I  am  glad  if  you  are  amused." 

"  I  wish  you  could  see  yourself,"  and  Miss  Letitia 
laughed  again.  "  Perhaps  you  would  like  me  to 
send  your  dinner  to  you?  "  she  added  ironically. 


Cowslip  101 


"  I  should  like  to  swear  at  you,  Letitia  Wyatt, 
that  is  what  I  should  like.  You  are  enough  to 
drive  a  saint  crazy." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  make  you  angry.  I  never  can 
tell  what  is  going  to  make  you  angry,"  Letitia  re- 
marked in  an  injured  tone.  "  I  was  merely  in  fun. 
You  can  usually  see  the  funny  side  of  things  as  well 
as  anyone. 

"  If  you  think  it  is  easy  to  see  the  funny  side  of 
the  dangerous  illness  of  your  only  cow,  when  you 
have  been  broiling  like  a  lobster  in  her  service,  you 
can  take  your  turn  and  try  it.  I  am  a  little  tired, 
and  will  give  up  my  place  to  you  willingly." 

"  Thank  you.  The  hot  sun  always  gives  me  a 
headache." 

"  It  is  very  lucky  that  I  am  so  constituted  that  I 
like  the  scorching  sun." 

"  Deborah,  dear,  I  am  sure  you  are  very  tired. 
Do  leave  that  cow  to  herself.  A  few  flies  won't 
hurt  her.  You  are  of  more  importance  than  the 
cow.  If  she  is  going  to  die  she  will  die,  and  if  she 
is  going  to  get  well  she  will  get  well." 

"  Good-by,  Letitia  Wyatt  I  have  enjoyed  your 
call  exceedingly,  but  I  think  you  ought  not  to  stay 
out  any  longer  in  the  broiling  sun." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  Lily  and  Jack  to  fan 
her?" 

"  Why  don't  I  get  chain  lightning  to  help  me?  " 


IO2  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Deborah,  I  insist,  for  your  own  good,  upon  your 
coming  into  the  house  at  once." 

"  Letitia,  /  won't." 

Miss  Deborah  had  been  fully  intending  to  take  a 
recess,  but  she  was  not  going  to  be  ordered  in  by 
Letitia. 

Miss  Letitia  went  back  and  held  a  family  council. 
As  the  result,  Lucy  came  out  presently  with  a  glass 
of  lemonade  and  a  piece  of  sponge-cake. 

"  Now,  Deborah,  just  let  me  fan  Cowslip  for  a 
few  minutes,"  she  coaxed,  as  her  sister  gratefully 
accepted  the  proffered  lunch. 

"  My  dear,  you  will  get  a  sunstroke.  I  shall  not 
allow  it  on  any  account." 

"  Then  come  in  with  me ;  when  it  gets  cooler,  you 
can  fan  her  again." 

"  I  am  going  to  fan  Cowslip  as  long  as  I  like." 

When  John  came  home  a  little  later  he  was  taken 
into  Miss  Letitia's  confidence. 

"  Your  aunt  Deborah  has  one  of  her  obstinate 
fits,"  she  informed  him.  "  She  will  stay  and  fan 
that  cow  until  she  drops." 

"Aunt  Deborah  or  the  cow?" 

"It  is  no  joking  matter.  It  is  preposterous;  a 
middle-aged  lady  on  a  hot  August  day,  sitting  under 
a  sketching-umbrella,  fanning  a  cow,  and  declaring 
that  she  will  not  be  dictated  to  by  anybody.  Try  if 
you  can't  make  her  listen  to  reason,  John." 


Cowslip  103 


John  obediently  went  out  to  the  enclosure.  "  It 
is  a  pleasant  day,  Aunt  Deborah,"  he  began  blandly. 

"  Very." 

"  A  trifle  warm  ?  "  he  suggested. 

"  A  trifle." 

"  Give  me  that  fan.  I  want  to  try  fanning  Cow- 
slip a  minute." 

She  rose  from  her  camp-stool  and  let  him  take 
her  place. 

"How  long  have  you  been  out  here?"  he  in- 
quired, as  he  swung  the  fan  briskly  back  and  forth. 

"  Sixteen  years,  judging  by  my  feelings." 

"  I  thought  so.  It  is  six  months  since  I  came 
out." 

"Do  you  think  Cowslip  is  going  to  die?"  Miss 
Deborah  inquired  anxiously. 

"  I  am  pretty  sure,  if  you  and  I  both  sacrifice 
our  lives  for  her  sake,  she  won't." 

"  You  ridiculous  boy !  Come,  you  never  did  like 
to  do  anything  useful.  Let  me  take  my  place 
again." 

"  Aunt  Deborah,  I  am  going  to  sit"  on  this  camp- 
stool  and  fan  the  cow  until  you  promise  to  go  into 
the  house." 

"  John,  don't  be  obstinate." 

"  If  I  am,  I  inherited  the  trait  from  a  collateral." 

"  Give  me  that  fan." 

"  Don't  you  wish  you  could  get  it  ?  " 


IO4  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  John,  you  are  behaving  like  a  boy  of  ten." 

"  Aunt  Deborah,  you  are  behaving  like  a  girl  of 
six." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right.  I  don't  know 
what  has  got  into  me  to-day,  but  when  Letitia  came 
out  in  her  white  morning-gown,  looking  so  cool  and 
superior,  and  laughed  at  me  in  my  short  skirt  and 
told  me  to  go  in,  I  vowed  I  wouldn't  stir  a  step." 

"  I  haven't  on  a  white  gown,  and  I  am  not  cool 
and  superior." 

"  There  are  days  when  Letitia  sets  my  nerves  on 
edge,"  Miss  Deborah  confessed.  "  I  know  it  is  very 
wrong  of  me,  for  she  is  always  so  reasonable  and 
sweet-tempered." 

"  I  am  seldom  reasonable,  and  only  sweet-tem- 
pered by  accident,"  John  observed  tranquilly. 
"  Aunt  Deborah,  how  long  do  you  mean  to  keep 
me  out  here  ?  " 

"  I  advise  you  to  go  in  at  once." 

"  I  shan't  until  you  do." 

"  How  can  I  allow  myself  to  be  routed  by  Le- 
titia?" 

"  You  are  only  being  routed  by  me.  I  am  not 
patient,  and  I  shall  begin  to  swear  presently;  you 
know  you  wouldn't  like  that." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  It  would  be  a  relief  to  have 
somebody  swear." 

They  walked  amicably  back  to  the  house,  John 


Cowslip  105 


promising  to  come  out  again  before  dinner  to  give 
Cowslip  another  fanning. 

"  I  was  sure  John  could  make  you  listen  to 
reason,"  Miss  Letitia  said  serenely,  looking  up  from 
the  book  she  was  reading  in  the  shaded  library. 

Miss  Deborah  pressed  her  lips  firmly  together  and 
gave  her  sister  in  pantomime  behind  her  back, 
for  John's  benefit,  the  good  shaking  she  longed  to 
administer. 

Cowslip  improved.  By  the  end  of  the  day  there 
seemed  a  fair  probability  of  her  recovery,  but  when 
Patrick  came  at  night  he  thought  it  best  not  to  try 
to  move  her  for  the  present. 

"  I  hope,  Deborah,  you  won't  think  it  necessary 
to  fan  her  all  the  evening,"  Miss  Letitia  observed. 

In  the  middle  of  the  night  Miss  Deborah  was 
dimly  conscious  of  gusts  of  wind  and  a  storm  of 
rain  beating  against  the  house.  She  remembered 
that  the  entry  window  was  wide  open,  and  that  the 
carpet  would  get  soaked,  but  she  was  too  tired  to 
care.  A  blinding  flash  of  lightning  and  an  almost 
instantaneous  peal  of  thunder  recalled  her  sharply 
to  this  world. 

"  Cowslip !  "  she  cried.  "  The  poor  dear  will  die 
of  cold." 

Forgetting  her  fatigue  she  hastily  flung  on  her 
gray-and-white  outing  flannel  wrapper,  and  slipping 
her  bare  feet  into  her  rubbers,  seized  a  couple  of  old 


io6  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

blankets  and  started  for  the  front  door.  In  the 
entry  she  paused  and  gave  a  hurried  glance  at  the 
umbrella-stand.  Laura  Macauley's  sketching  um- 
brella was  thrust  like  an  unwilling  guest  in  among 
the  Wyatts'  trim  silk  ones. 

"  It  will  spoil  the  looks  of  it,"  she  said;  "  but  no 
matter,  it  is  in  a  good  cause.  I  shall  have  to  get 
her  another.  I  suppose  they  are  very  expensive, 
never  mind.  I  hope  she  hasn't  any  tender  associa- 
tions with  it,  but  if  she  has  they  must  go." 

Hastily  taking  the  umbrella,  she  unlocked  the 
door  and  started  for  the  enclosure.  The  blinding 
flashes  of  lightning  enabled  her  to  find  her  way. 
In  the  intervals  of  darkness  she  paused  occasionally 
to  rest.  When  Miss  Deborah  reached  Cowslip  at 
last,  she  draped  the  blankets  over  her  and  planted 
the  sketching  umbrella  firmly  in  the  ground.  It  was 
large  enough  to  keep  off  most  of  the  rain. 

"  There,  poor  dear,  I  have  done  my  level  best  for 
you,"  she  said.  "  If  you  die  it  will  not  be  my  re- 
sponsibility." 

Meanwhile  one  member  after  another  of  the 
Wyatt  household  was  awakened  by  the  peals  of 
thunder. 

"  Deborah,"  Letitia  called  to  her  sister,  "  the 
entry  window  is  open." 

There  was  no  answer.  Deborah  always  looked 
after  the  windows,  but  as  it  was  evident  that  she  was 


Cowslip  107 


asleep  Letitia  rose  reluctantly  and  went  to  shut  it 
herself.  The  rain  was  beating  in  violently  and 
splashed  on  her  face  and  hands. 

Lucy  in  her  pale  blue  wrapper  came  softly  down- 
stairs. "  I  am  afraid  to  be  up  in  the  third  story 
all  alone  in  this  awful  storm,"  she  confessed  as  she 
sought  the  safe  harbor  of  Deborah's  room. 

"  Come  in  to  me,  dear,"  said  Letitia. 

Lucy  was  standing  on  the  threshold  of  Deborah's 
door. 

"  Deborah  isn't  there,"  she  exclaimed. 

"  Nonsense.  Of  course  she  is  there;  she  is 
asleep." 

"  Come  and  see  for  yourself." 

The  two  sisters  looked  at  the  crumpled  bedclothes 
and  at  the  pillow  with  its  recent  indentations,  and 
then  at  each  other. 

"  I  believe  she  has  gone  out  to  the  cow,"  said 
Letitia.  "  She  will  take  her  death  of  cold.  Run 
down,  Lucy,  and  see  if  Laura  Macauley's  umbrella 
is  in  the  stand." 

"  I  don't  dare  go.     I  am  afraid  of  the  lightning." 

Miss  Letitia  went  down  a  few  steps  and  looked 
over  the  balusters.'  "  It  isn't  there,"  she  said. 

Esther  opened  her  door  at  that  moment.  "  I 
want  a  little  society,"  she  remarked.  "  John  is 
asleep.  Fancy  sleeping  through  such  a  thunder- 
storm." 


io8  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  your  aunt  Deborah  is?  " 
asked  Miss  Letitia. 

"  In  bed,  I  hope." 

"  Out  on  the  hillside  with  Cowslip.  I  don't  be- 
lieve she  would  care  if  she  were  struck  and  killed 
if  only  that  miserable  cow  escaped.  I  wish  she  had 
as  much  consideration  for  her  family  as  she  has  for 
animals.  Now,  of  course,  somebody  will  have  to 
go  out  and  get  her  in." 

"  I  will  wake  John,"  said  Esther. 

Her  voice  made  a  gentle  accompaniment  to  the 
storm.  They  could  not  hear  what  she  said,  although 
the  door  was  ajar,  but  above  the  sound  of  the 
tempest  came  an  exclamation  in  John's  deep  bass 
that  sounded  suspiciously  like  "  Damn  the  cow." 

Presently  he  came  out,  still  grumbling,  equipped 
in  his  oldest  clothes. 

"  You  had  better  take  the  lantern,"  advised  Miss 
Letitia  from  her  room.  "  The  lantern  is  in  the 
china-closet  cupboard,  the  right-hand  cupboard,  on 
the  middle  shelf." 

A  terrific  peal  of  thunder  drowned  the  close  of 
her  remarks,  and  John  plunged  downstairs  and  out 
into  the  storm,  trusting  to  the  lightning  to  guide 
his  steps. 

"  How  terrible  it  would  be  if  one  of  them  should 
be  struck,"  Lucy  suggested  with  a  little  shiver,  as 
she  crouched  down  on  her  sister's  bed.  Esther  went 


Cowslip  109 


in  to  see  how  the  children  and  the  baby  were  faring. 
'  They  were  peacefully  sleeping.  It  took  more  than 
a  little  thing  like  a  thunder-storm  to  wake  them. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Deborah,  having  fulfilled  her 
duty  in  the  station  in  life  to  which  she  had  been 
called,  was  slowly  making  her  way  homeward.  Her 
India-rubbers  were  filled  with  water,  which  gurgled 
out  in  cold  streams  on  her  bare  feet  with  every  step 
she  took.  She  was  drenched  to  the  skin,  but  it  was 
such  a  warm  night  that  she  enjoyed  it.  In  fact  the 
whole  adventure  was  one  that  appealed  to  her  daring 
spirit.  After  two  or  three  brilliant  flashes  of 
lightning  there  was  a  period  of  Ethiopian  darkness 
through  which  she  struggled  towards  the  beacon 
lights  of  the  house.  Presently  a  shadowy  form  rose 
at  her  side. 

Miss  Deborah  had  a  stout  heart,  but  the  appari- 
tion of  a  man  at  midnight  in  her  garden  gave  her 
a  fright.  She  steadied  her  voice,  however,  and 
inquired  sternly,  "  What  are  you  doing  here  at  this 
time  of  night  when  all  respectable  people  are  in  their 
beds?" 

"  Upon  my  word  I  like  that,"  answered  John's 
voice.  "  What  am  I  doing  at  this  time  of  night?  If 
all  respectable  people  were  in  their  beds  I  shouldn't 
have  had  this  wild-goose  chase,  but  my  wife  insisted 
on  my  going  after  you." 

"  I  am  so  relieved  to  find  it  is  you,  John.     Poor 


no  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

fellow!  It  was  a  shame  for  them  to  send  you  out. 
Letitia  can  never  learn  that  I  am  old  enough  to  take 
care  of  myself.  The  cow  is  getting  on  all  right. 
I  have  covered  her  up  in  two  thick  blankets,  and 
put  Laura  Macauley's  umbrella  over  her,  and  I 
think  she " 

"  Oh,  confound  the  cow !  The  question  is  how  are 
you  getting  on  ?  It  is  an  awful  night  for  you  to  be 
out.  You  ought  to"  have  rheumatic  fever  or  pneu- 
monia as  a  sequel  to  this  escapade." 

"  I  have  never  done  what  was  expected  of  me  in 
my  whole  life,  John,  and  I  am  not  likely  to  begin 
at  my  age." 

Miss  Deborah  proved  a  true  prophet.  She  did 
not  even  have  a  cold,  as  the  consequence  of  her  ad- 
venture. Miss  Letitia  watched  her  carefully  for 
two  or  three  days  for  symptoms  of  chills-and-fever, 
or  grippe. 

"  I  know  you  are  dreadfully  disappointed,  Leti- 
tia," Miss  Deborah  observed  briskly.  "  It  is  hard 
you  can't  have  the  comfort  of  saying,  *  I  told  you 
so.  Deborah,  when  will  you  ever  learn  not  to  do 
such  crazy  things  ?  '  ' 

"  I  am  thankful  you  haven't  made  yourself  ill. 
dear,"  returned  Miss  Letitia,  "  but  it  was  just  as 
crazy  a  thing  for  you  to  do." 

"  Well,  I  don't  care.  I  am  as  strong  as  a  horse, 
and  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should  not  do  crazy 


Cowslip  in 


things.  I  mean  to  do  crazier  and  crazier  things, 
Letitia.  I  think  it  is  time  I  had  my  fling.  And  I 
accomplished  my  object.  Cowslip  is  getting  well." 
"  I  have  no  doubt  she  would  have  got  well  in  any 
event,"  said  Miss  Letitia. 


AN  OLD  LOVER 


VI 
AN  OLD  LOVER 

T  TERE  is  your  valise,  Frank.     I  don't  think  I 
A  JL     have  forgotten  anything." 
"  Thank  you,  Sophy." 

"  Have  you  got  your  eye-glasses  ?  "  Mrs.  Hollis 
asked  her  husband  presently. 

"  Of  course  I  have." 

She  did  not  remind  him  that  he  had  left  them  be- 
hind on  a  former  occasion. 

The  Reverend  Francis  Hollis  was  in  that  nervous 
state  of  mind  that  is  apt  to  precede  a  journey  when 
it  is  a  rare  event.  He  took  out  his  watch.  "  Five 
minutes  of  three.  Jones  ought  to  be  here,"  he  said 
impatiently. 

"  You  didn't  order  the  carriage  until  three,"  his 
wife  reminded  him,  timidly.  "  You  must  give  a 
great  deal  of  love  to  father,"  she  added,  "  and  to 
your  sister  Clara  and  Frances,  and  the  doctor,  and 

to "  she  hesitated.     "  I  suppose  you  will  see  the 

"5 


n6  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Wyatts?  "  she  inquired  with  an  assumption  of  care- 
lessness. 

"  If  I  have  time  I  shall  look  them  up,"  he  an- 
swered with  equal  indifference. 

"  Clara  says  Letitia  is  as  handsome  as  ever,"  she 
ventured.  "  How  long  is  it  since  you  have  seen 
her?  It  must  be  twenty  years  at  least." 

"  It  is  all  of  that." 

"  She  will  find  you  very  much  changed." 

"  Changed?  "     He  turned  on  her  sharply. 

"  Yes,  you  have  grown  so  much  stouter,  and  you 
are  getting  so  gray.  It  is  very  becoming  to  you," 
Mrs.  Hollis  hastened  to  add.  "  I  never  saw  you 
looking  better  than  you  are  looking  this  minute,  I 
was  only  thinking  she  would  find  a  difference.  We 
are  middle-aged  people  now,  Frank." 

He  looked  at  his  wife  with  her  plump,  matronly 
figure  and  gray  hair.  Sophy  had  never  been  pretty, 
and  on  the  whole  the  years  had  been  kind  to  her; 
she  had  gained  more  than  she  had  lost.  Still,  it 
was  true;  they  were  middle-aged  people  according 
to  the  ideas  of  the  world.  He  wondered  that  Sophy 
should  have  reminded  him  that  he  was  changed. 
She  was  not  usually  lacking  in  tact,  but  perhaps  it 
was  too  much  to  expect  her  to  understand  him  so 
completely  as  to  be  able  to  realize  that  there  were 
days  when  he  felt  like  an  ardent  boy,  in  spite  of  his 
sixty  years.  This  was  one  of  those  days.  It  was 


An  Old  Lover  117 

not  of  Sophy,  who  had  been  his  faithful  wife  for 
more  than  thirty  years  that  he  was  thinking,  as  the 
carriage  drew  up  to  the  door,  but  of  a  girl  whose 
marvelous  beauty  had  won  his  heart  nearly  forty 
years  ago. 

The  Reverend  Francis  Hollis  had  been  a  devoted 
husband,  according  to  the  average  standard ;  he  had 
nothing  to  reproach  himself  with,  he  declared,  as  he 
went  down  the  doorsteps,  and  yet,  in  all  those  years 
there  had  not  been  a  time  when  the  mere  mention 
of  this  other  woman's  name  had  not  quickened  his 
pulses.  Safe  at  the  bottom  of  a  drawer  in  his  study 
was  her  photograph.  He  did  not  often  look  at  it, 
to  have  done  so  would  have  seemed  to  him  disloyal, 
but  deep  down  in  the  bottom  of  his  mind  was  the 
thought  of  her.  Letitia  Wyatt  was  the  most  beauti- 
ful woman  he  had  ever  known  and  the  most  gifted. 
Her  standard  had  been  so  high  that  she  could  not 
think  of  him  for  a  husband,  but  this  had  only  set 
her  on  a  more  lofty  pinnacle.  Humility  was  not  his 
chief  characteristic,  but  he  was  very  humble  when- 
ever he  thought  of  Letitia  Wyatt. 

"  Frank,  aren't  you  going  to  kiss  me  good-by?  " 
Sophy  asked,  running  down  the  steps  after 
him. 

"  I  thought  I  had."  He  turned  and  kissed  her 
with  hasty  perfunctoriness.  "  Don't  mope  while  I 
am  gone.  Have  a  good  time." 


u8  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Mrs.  Hollis  went  sadly  back  into  the  house.  She 
sat  down  for  a  moment  in  the  study,  resting  her 
head  in  her  hands. 

"  He  cares  more  for  her  than  he  does  for  me," 
she  thought,  "  after  all  these  years." 

She  opened  a  drawer  and  lifting  up  some  quires 
of  note-paper  and  bundles  of  neatly  tied  letters,  took 
out  from  underneath  them  a  small  box  containing 
a  photograph.  She  had  come  across  it  accidentally 
once,  and  ever  since  the  memory  of  it  so  carefully 
hidden  away  among  her  husband's  possessions  had 
haunted  her.  She  studied  the  beautiful  face  for  a 
long  time.  The  dark  eyes  looked  somberly  at  her 
with  an  unfathomable  expression.  "  No  wonder  he 
loved  her,"  she  thought  with  a  little  sigh,  as  she  put 
the  photograph  back  in  the  box.  In  her  youth 
Sophy  Newhall  had  given  Letitia  Wyatt  the  blind 
adoration  that  a  plain,  humble-minded  girl  gives 
a  handsome,  fascinating  woman,  but  as  the  years 
went  on  she  had  sometimes  wondered  whether 
Letitia' s  standard  of  perfection  was  calculated  to 
make  her  friends  happy  in  every-day  life.  "  She 
could  not  have  loved  him  as  I  have,"  she  decided ; 
"  he  would  not  have  been  happy  if  he  had  married 
her,  but  he  will  never  know  it.  I  love  him  more  and 
more  the  older  he  grows.  If  he  ever  lives  to  be 
really  old,  and  has  any  of  the  incapacities  of  age,  I 
shall  only  love  him  a  hundred  times  more  because  of 


An  Old  Lover  119 


them."     Something  told  her  that  this  would  not 
have  been  the  case  with  Letitia  Wyatt. 

And  meantime  as  the  carriage  was  taking  Mr. 
Hollis  away  from  his  wife,  he  did  not  once  think  of 
her.  He  was  fond  of  Sophy,  more  so  than  she  im- 
agined or  than  he  realized  himself,  but  he  was  going 
East,  and  his  heart  was  full  of  the  exultant  happi- 
ness of  a  schoolboy.  As  the  train  whirled  him  over 
rolling  prairies  and  past  cities  lying  in  a  cloud  of 
smoky  haze,  it  was  of  that  other  woman  he  was 
thinking,  and  of  the  time  when  he  had  loved  her, 
nearly  forty  years  ago.  Day  changed  to  night,  and 
night  gave  place  to  day,  as  the  train  sped  eastward, 
and  at  each  stage  of  the  journey  the  Reverend 
Francis  Hollis  left  a  few  years  of  his  life  behind 
him,  until  by  the  time  he  reached  Eppingham  he  was 
ridiculously  young.  When  the  conductor  called  out 
the  familiar  name  with  as  little  emotion  as  if  he  had 
said  "  Detroit,"  or  "  Boston,"  Mr.  Hollis,  who  was 
going  first  to  his  father-in-law's  farm,  and  would 
not  leave  the  train  until  the  next  station,  went  out 
on  the  platform  and  looked  eagerly  to  the  left.  The 
trees  had  grown ;  they  made  such  a  bower  of  yellow 
and  red  that  he  could  only  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
Wyatts'  chimneys  in  the  distance.  The  village,  with 
its  white  houses  and  two  slender  white  spires,  had 
changed  very  little  in  forty  years.  To  be  sure  there 
were  evidences  of  electric-lights  and  telephones, 


I2o  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

and  men  and  women  were  making  their  swift  way 
on  bicycles  through  the  sleepy  streets,  but,  although 
these  things  spoke  of  progress,  they  did  little  to  im- 
pair the  general  impression  of  aristocratic  conserva- 
tism and  peaceful  self-satisfaction. 

When  Mr.  Hollis  reached  the  Newhall  farm  his 
father-in-law  was  standing  on  the  doorsteps  to  greet 
him.  It  was  six  years  since  they  had  met,  a  trifling 
space  of  time  in  the  life  of  the  octogenarian,  and  his 
son-in-law  could  truthfully  say,  "  You  have  not 
changed  in  the  least.  You  have  learned  the  secret 
of  eternal  youth." 

"  I  guess  eternal  age  would  come  nearer  it,"  said 
the  old  man.  "  My  hair  was  as  white  as  hair  ever 
gets,  six  yeafs  ago.  You've  grown  fleshy,  Frank, 
and  you  are  getting  gray.  That  don't  seem  right 
in  a  boy  like  you,"  he  added  with  a  smile.  Here 
was  someone  at  last  who  understood  that  Francis 
Hollis's  outer  semblance  was  only  a  disguise. 

"  I  suppose  you  will  see  the  Wyatts  when  you  are 
stopping  with  Clara?"  Peter  Newhall  said  after 
supper,  as  he  and  his  son-in-law  were  sitting  in  the 
prim  parlor  that  was  only  used  on  state  occa- 
sions. 

"  I  thought  I  should  look  them  up." 

"  Lucy  Wyatt  was  here  in  the  summer  'long  with 
her  sister  Deborah.  They  came  to  buy  a  cow. 
She's  a  real  sweet  woman,  Lucy  Wyatt." 


An  Old  Lover  121 

"  I  never  could  forgive  her  for  the  way  she 
treated  Alec." 

"  I'll  own  I'd  felt  kind  o'  hard  to  her  all  these 
years,"  said  the  old  man,  "  but  when  I  come  to  talk 
with  her  and  to  see  her  with  the  same  childlike  eyes 
and  yellow  hair,  but  so  changed  in  her  face,  and 
when  I  see  the  tears  come  into  her  eyes  at  the  sound 
of  my  poor  boy's  name  I  felt  different.  And  I 
thought,  '  if  she  was  to  blame,  I  guess  she's  had  her 
own  punishment.'  But  so  far  as  I  could  find  out 
from  what  she  didn't  say — she  ain't  a  great  hand  to 
talk — it  was  her  folks  that  made  the  trouble.  I  kind 
o'  mistrusted  all  along  that  Letitia  was  at  the  bottom 
of  it." 

"  Letitia !  I  am  sure  she  would  never  use  undue 
influence.  She  is  the  most  conscientious  woman  I 
know." 

"  Mebbe  you're  right.  Conscience  often  makes 
folks  interfere  with  other  people.  Not  that  I  blame 
Letitia.  My  boy  wa'n't  a  good  match  for  Lucy 
Wyat.t,  according  to  Letitia' s  ideas.  Only  what 
riled  me  was  the  cold  way  they  treated  him.  Well, 
it  ain't  no  use  crying  over  spilt  milk.  What's  past 
is  past.  Letitia  Wyatt  is  a  good  woman.  She  is 
a  church  member,  and  I  haven't  any  call  to  find  fault 
with  her.  Only,  sometimes  as  I  sit  here  alone  and 
the  past  keeps  coming  up  until  it  seems  more  clear 
than  the  present,  I  get  to  thinking  of  how  it  might 


122  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

have  been.  And  I  say  to  myself,  *  What  is  the 
Christian  religion  for  ?  Is  the  church  a  kind  of  club 
for  good  people  who  have  never  sinned?  Times 
have  changed  since  the  Lord  came  to  save  the  sheep 
that  was  lost,  and  told  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal 
Son.  I  ain't  saying  Lucy  ought  to  have  married 
my  boy,  though  when  I  saw  her  the  other  day  with 
that  tired,  faded  look,  seeming  as  if  she  had  passed 
through  life  without  living,  I  says  to  myself, '  Mebbe 
you'd  have  been  happier  here  on  the  old  farm, 
married  to  my  boy,  with  children  to  look  after  you ; 
you'd  have  had  to  work  harder,  but  you'd  have  had 
an  easier  mind,'  but  that's  neither  here  nor  there. 
If  they  only  treated  my  boy  like  a  friend  instead 
of  the  dust  under  their  feet  why  then  he  wouldn't 
have  gone  West,  and  there  would  never  have  been 
the  trouble  with  the  other  woman.  But  my  poor 
lad  got  desperate,  and  he  thought  (I  could  always 
tell  what  was  in  his  mind  same  as  if  I  could  look 
into  it),  it  wa'n't  any  use  trying  to  be  a  good  man 
so  long  as  there  was  the  fact  that  he  come  of 
farmers'  people  to  stand  between  him  and  the  girl 
he  loved." 

The  picture  of  Letitia  Wyatt  that  the  Reverend 
Francis  Hollis  had  carried  in  his  heart  for  so  many 
years  was  not  to  be  altered  by  a  single  detail  on 
account  of  the  remarks  of  a  disappointed  old  man. 
Mr.  Hollis  felt  sure  that  Letitia  had  used  no  undue 


An  Old  Lover  123 

influence  with  Lucy.  When  he  went  to  stay  with 
his  sister,  Mrs.  Simonds,  in  the  village,  he  ques- 
tioned her.  Clara  was  very  fond  of  Letitia,  and  he 
wanted  to  be  reinforced  in  his  judgment  by  her 
opinion. 

"  How  are  the  Wyatts  ?  "  he  asked  carelessly,  on 
the  evening  of  his  arrival. 

"  Deborah  is  always  the  picture  of  health,  Luc;- 
is  never  very  strong,  and  Letitia  is  just  getting  over 
the  grippe.  You  would  think  by  the  way  the  other 
two  go  on  she  had  had  pneumonia.  I  tell  my  hus- 
band," she  added  plaintively,  "  that  I  wish  I  had 
anybody  to  take  as  good  care  of  me.  I  have  found 
that  doctors'  wives  are  as  badly  off  as  shoemakers' 
children.  You  would  think  with  a  husband  who  is 
a  doctor  and  a  daughter  who  is  meaning  to  be  a 
trained  nurse  I  might  have  some  chance  of  getting 
medicine  for  my  cold." 

"  Would  Letitia  be  well  enough  to  see  me  if  I 
were  to  call  there  to-morrow?  I  want  to  see  them 
all." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  haven't  seen  her  go  out  of  the 
house,  but  maybe  she  comes  downstairs.  Frances," 
Mrs.  Simonds  inquired,  opening  the  door  into  the 
next  room,  "  do  you  know  whether  Miss  Letitia  has 
come  downstairs  yet?" 

"  She  came  down  yesterday  for  the  first  time." 

Mrs.   Simonds  closed  the  door  and  returned  to 


124  J°nn  Forsyth's  Aunts 

her  chair.  Her  brother  found  there  was  no  use  in 
trying  to  lead  up  to  the  subject.  He  was  obliged  to 
plunge  directly  in.  "  You  never  heard,  did  you/' 
he  began  confidentially,  "  that  Letitia  had  anything 
to  do  with  breaking  up  that  old  affair  between  Lucy 
and  Alec?" 

"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it.  I  have  never 
been  intimate  with  Letitia.  I  have  lived  next  door 
to  Letitia  Wyatt  ever  since  we  moved  into  this 
house,  and  that  was  twenty-five  or  twenty-six  years 
ago,  I  forget  which.  Frances,"  she  said  opening 
the  door  again,  ''is  it  twenty-five,  or  twenty-six 
years  since  we  moved  into  this  house?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  mother,  it  was  before  I  was  born." 

"  So  it  was,  to  be  sure,  but  I  thought  you  might 
have  heard  your  father  say.  I  remember  I  was 
putting  Ned  into  trousers  that  spring,  so  it  must 
have  been  at  least  twenty-six  years  ago;  well,  it 
doesn't  matter  just  when  it  was.  What  were  we 
talking  about?  It  has  gone  out  of  my  head." 

"  Letitia  Wyatt." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  have  lived  next  door  to  her  for 
twenty-six  years,  and  I  have  never  learned  to  know 
her  any  better  than  the  day  we  moved  in.  She  has 
a  grand  air  about  her  that  keeps  one  at  a  distance. 
Deborah  and  Lucy  are  so  different.  Mrs.  Lutter- 
worth  thinks  Letitia  is  selfish.  Mrs.  Lutterworth 
is  our  minister's  wife, — oh,  vou  know  that,  of 


An  Old  Lover  125 

course,  as  you  are  going  to  preach  for  Mr.  Lutter- 
worth.  Mrs.  Lutterworth  is  one  who  has  to  have 
her  fling  at  everybody.  I  am  very  fond  of  Letitia, 
I  always  was.  I  don't  think  it  is  fair  to  call  a 
woman  selfish  merely  because  she  has  her  own  way. 
She  is  the  oldest,  and  has  a  right  to  her  way,  and  it 
is  a  very  good  way.  I  am  sure  the  doctor  has  his 
way  in  this  house,  not  that  I  grudge  it  to  him ;  some- 
one has  to  have  the  casting  vote  in  every  household. 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  says  Deborah  does  all  the  work 
and  Letitia  criticizes,  but  people  have  different  tal- 
ents in  this  world,  and  Letitia  makes  a  fine  Regent 
of  the  Daughters  of  the  Revolution.  We  always 
get  on  beautifully  together,  only  I  can  never  seem 
to  get  close  to  her." 

When  Mr.  Hollis  made  his  call  at  the  Wyatts,  he 
was  disappointed  to  find  that  Letitia  was  not  well 
enough  to  see  him.  Deborah  was  out,  and  Lucy 
brought  down  an  invitation  to  him  from  Letitia  to 
take  tea  with  them  at  six  o'clock  the  next  afternoon. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hollis,"  Lucy  said, 
with  her  half  shy,  but  wholly  sincere,  manner. 

She  was  struck  with  the  element  of  freshness  and 
youth  which  Frank  Hollis  had  kept.  Lucy  always 
liked  boys,  gray-haired  or  otherwise,  and  felt  won- 
derfully at  ease  with  her  sister's  old  lover,  while  he, 
on  his  side,  was  charmed  with  her.  They  talked  on 
general  topics  and  neighborhood  gossip  for  a  time. 


126  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

In  those  days  when  he  had  first  fallen  in  love  with 
Letitia,  Lucy  had  been  a  tiny  girl,  a  very  captivating 
child,  who  had  insisted  that  he  should  hold  her  on 
his  knee  and  tell  her  stories.  At  last  they  began  to 
talk  of  those  far-away  times. 

"  I  never  told  stories  to  any  child  but  you,"  he 
said.  "  Somehow  they  are  not  in  my  line.  You 
gave  me  to  understand  you  liked  fairy-tales  best, 
but  I  could  never  invent  a  fairy-tale  to  save  my 
soul." 

"  You  used  to  tell  me  delightful  stories  of  what 
you  did  when  you  were  a  little  boy." 

"  Did  I  ?  It  seems  like  a  fairy-tale  now  to  think 
that  I  ever  was  a  little  boy.  Youth  is  a  good  thing. 
I  wish  when  we  had  it  we  ever  knew  how  good  a 
thing  it  is." 

"  I  wish  so  too,  with  all  my  heart." 

Alec  was  so  strongly  present  in  Lucy's  mind  that 
it  was  only  by  an  effort  that  she  could  prevent  her- 
self from  saying  his  name.  She  hastily  changed 
the  subject  and  spoke  of  Frances  Simonds,  and  of 
her  desire  to  be  a  trained  nurse. 

Mr.  Hollis  said  that  in  his  opinion  an  only 
daughter  could  find  enough  to  do  at  home. 

"  Frances  has  her  father's  talent  for  medicine," 
said  Lucy,  "  and  I  am  glad  she  is  going  to  lead  an 
independent  life.  Her  plan  is  to  go  through  the 
training-school,  and  then  come  home  to  help  him." 


An  Old  Lover  127 


"  And  meanwhile  her  poor  mother  will  miss  her 
sadly." 

"  Yes,  for  two  years.  Someone  must  make  a 
sacrifice,  and  why  should  it  not  be  Mrs.  Simonds, 
who  has  lived  her  life,  instead  of  Frances,  who  has 
hers  before  her?  I  can't  tell  you  how  strongly  I 
feel  on  the  subject  of  girls  asserting  their  individu- 
ality." 

He  looked  at  the  gentle  woman  before  him  who 
had  never  in  her  whole  life  asserted  hers. 

"  I  wish  you  had  felt  like  that  when  you  were 
twenty,"  he  burst  out. 

"  Sometimes  I  think  the  sin  of  not  daring  to  do, 
the  sin  of  quiescence,  is  the  greatest  sin  of  all  in  the 
Lord's  eyes,"  she  returned  impulsively. 

The  barriers  of  conventionality  were  down. 
Francis  Hollis  was  to  Lucy  a  voice  from  her  lost 
youth,  and  she  was  to  him  a  woman  who  had  known 
sorrow  and  needed  to  be  comforted. 

"  You  must  not  feel  like  that.  You  have  nothing 
to  reproach  yourself  with,"  he  said  hastily,  his  past 
condemnation  wholly  forgotten. 

"  I  reproach  myself  for  not  having  been  true  to 
the  best  that  was  in  me." 

"  You  were  so  young,  you  naturally  took  the 
advice  of  others  older  and  wiser  than  yourself." 

"  That  does  not  clear  me  from  responsibility. 
We  cannot  put  our  sins  off  on  other  people.  I  have 


128  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

grown  to  know  this  lately.  I  gave  up  a  friend  be- 
cause I  hadn't  the  courage  to  be  loyal  to  him. ' 

"  Poor  Alec !  He  hadn't  the  strength  of  will  to 
be  true  to  you,  but  he  always  loved  you  dearly." 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  ringing  of  a  bell. 
That  bell  seemed  to  Lucy  like  the  symbol  of  her 
whole  life.  She  started  to  her  feet,  Bridget  was 
out  and  Letitia  needed  her. 

"  Wait  a  minute,"  Mr.  Hollis  said  peremptorily. 
"  We  shall  never  have  such  a  chance  as  this  again. 
There  is  so  much  I  want  to  tell  you.  Letitia  won't 
mind  if  you  go  up  five  minutes  later." 

She  hesitated  and  looked  uneasily  at  the  clock. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  that  Sophy  took  care  of  her 
brother  in  his  last  illness,  and  he  spoke  so  often  of 
you,  of  what  you  had  been  to  him,  and  of  what  he 
might  have  been  if  you  had  loved  him.  I  am  not 
trying  to  excuse  him,  he  made  a  terrible  fiasco  of 
life,  poor  fellow,  but  in  his  defence  it  can  be 
said " 

The  bell  sounded  again.  This  time  there  were 
three  quick  impatient  rings. 

"  I  must  go  to  Letitia,"  she  said. 

"  I  thought  he  never  would  leave,"  Letitia  com- 
plained as  Lucy  entered  the  room.  "  It  seems  he 
doesn't  know  when  to  go  any  better  than  he  used  to. 
He  has  been  here  forty  minutes  by  the  clock.  I 
didn't  suppose  he  would  stay  when  he  found  I 


An  Old  Lover  129 

couldn't  see  him,  especially  as  we  asked  him  to  tea 
to-morrow.  I  ought  to  have  had  my  eggnog  at  four 
and  it  is  twenty  minutes  past.  I  would  not  have 
rung  for  you,  but  I  began  to  feel  really  faint,  and 
hopeless  as  to  his  ever  going.  What  did  you  talk 
about  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  weather,  and  politics  and  the  neigh- 
bors, and  about  Frances  being  a  trained  nurse." 

"  Well,  run  along  now,  and  make  me  my  egg- 
nog." 

When  Lucy  brought  it  up  fluffy  with  the  lightly 
beaten  egg,  her  sister  said,  "  You  are  very  good  to 
do  this  for  me,  dear.  I  like  your  eggnogs  better 
than  Bridget's;  they  are  lighter." 

She  tasted  it.  "  It  is  perfectly  delicious,  only  I 
should  say  that  you  forgot  the  salt." 

"  I  did,"  Lucy  owned  ruefully.  "  I'll  run  down 
and  get  it." 

"  Never  mind.  I  don't  want  to  wait.  It  is  very 
good  without  the  salt.  I  merely  reminded  you  of 
it  for  another  time.  Tell  me,  is  Frank  Hollis  very 
much  changed  ?  "  she  asked,  when  her  hunger  was 
appeased. 

"  He  has  grown  stout  and  gray,  and  he  is  rather 
bald,  but  he  seemed  just  the  same  person  inside." 

"  Inside  ?     What  a  strange  girl  you  are !  " 

"  I  mean  that  his  being  gray  and  middle-aged 
seems  an  accident.     He  is  young  at  heart." 
9 


130  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  If  there  is  one  thing  that  I  dislike  more  than 
another,  it  is  your  young,  middle-aged  person,"  said 
Letitia.  "  It  is  a  great  deal  more  dignified  to  adapt 
oneself  to  the  inevitable.  I  have  been  making  my 
plans  for  to-morrow  night.  Deborah  is  so  set  she 
will  be  sure  to  oppose  me,  and  we  shall  have  to  use 
a  great  deal  of  tact.  I  do  wish  she  would  consent 
tc  let  me  get  pink  shades  for  the  candlesticks ;  how- 
ever, our  candlesticks  are  not  just  the  right  kind  for 
them.  I  want  Frank  Hollis  to  see  that  we  have  not 
stood  still  while  the  world  has  moved,  and  I  am 
going  to  borrow  Laura  Macauley's  candlesticks  and 
pink  shades." 

"  Mr.  Hollis  is  the  most  informal  sort  of  person," 
Lucy  affirmed.  "  I  don't  believe  he  would  care  or 
even  notice  how  the  table  looked." 

"  He  would  take  in  the  general  effect.  I  want 
quail  on  toast  for  tea.  Deborah  does  not  care  for 
quail,  but  they  are  the  proper  thing.  Laura  always 
has  them,  and  I  am  very  fond  of  quail.  We  will 
get  half  a  dozen,  and  then  there  will  be  two  left 
that  you  and  I  can  have  for  our  dinner  the  next  day. 
Here  comes  Deborah.  Be  sure  to  back  me  up, 
dear." 

Deborah  stoutly  refused  to  borrow  Laura  Macau- 
ley's  candlesticks. 

"  The  idea  of  making  a  splurge  for  Frank  Hol- 
lis !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  is  absurd !  And  as  for 


An  Old  Lover  131 

having  quail  on  toast  for  tea,  men  never  like  such 
light  fare.  He  would  a  great  deal  rather  have  cold 
beef  and  baked  potatoes." 

Letitia  had  her  way  in  the  end,  as  usual,  but  it  was 
only  after  a  wearing  discussion,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  despatch  Lucy  to  the  Macauleys'  for  the 
candlesticks. 

When  the  long-expected  hour  came,  and  Frank 
Hollis  entered  his  old  friend's  house,  with  the  de- 
lightful prospect  of  a  whole  evening  spent  in  her 
society,  it  was  Deborah  who  greeted  him,  for  Leti- 
tia had  not  yet  come  down.  It  was  a  chilly  day, 
and  all  the  windows  were  closed  in  the  cheerful  par- 
lor, and  a  fire  was  burning  on  the'  hearth.  The 
room  felt  close,  and  Mr.  Hollis  glanced  involun- 
tarily at  the  thermometer,  which  stood  at  seventy- 
six. 

"  It  is  frightfully  hot,"  Deborah  observed  sympa- 
thetically. "  I  will  open  the  windows  wide  for  a 
moment.  Letitia  and  I  are  like  Jack  Sprat  and  his 
wife.  She  does  not  like  a  breath  of  air,  and  I  feel 
as  if  I  were  going  to  have  an  attack  of  apoplexy 
without  it.  As  I  have  never  had  one,  and  as  she  has 
frequently  taken  cold,  we  keep  the  windows  shut. 
Frank,  don't  sit  down  in  that  chair,  that  is  Mr. 
Gray's."  Then,  as  he  looked  mystified,  she  added : 
"  Mr.  Gray  is  our  parlor  boarder,  and  the  chief 
ruler  of  the  family.  We  have  to  keep  an  especial 


132  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

chair  for  him,  for  his  gray  hairs  are  not  fastened  in 
as  firmly  as  mine  are.  Come  here,  Mr.  Gray,  and 
let  me  introduce  you  to  an  old  friend,"  and  she  took 
her  cat  up  from  the  hearth-rug  and  gave  his  paw 
gravely  to  Frank  Hollis.  "  Here  comes  Letitia," 
she  added  presently.  "  Shut  the  windows,  quick, 
Frank." 

How  often  he  had  listened  in  this  very  room  to 
those  light  footsteps  on  the  stairs  which  had  been 
the  prelude  to  the  entrance  of  the  most  beautiful 
girl  he  had  ever  known.  He  could  see  her  now 
with  her  dark  eyes  and  glorious  dark  hair,  and  her 
tall  graceful  figure.  He  remembered  vividly  the 
occasional  haughty  inclination  of  her  head  which 
was  more  than  counterbalanced  by  her  charming 
smile. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Hollis,"  Letitia 
said,  as  she  shook  hands  with  him  cordially. 

For  one  moment  her  hair  so  thickly  streaked  with 
gray  and  her  colorless  complexion  gave  him  a  sharp 
sense  of  pain ;  after  that  he  was  ready  to  admit  that 
she  was  still  a  handsome  woman.  She  had  the  same 
slender  figure,  and  if  the  haughty  inclination  of  her 
head  seemed  to  be  more  habitual  with  her  than 
when  she  was  a  girl,  and  the  smile  to  have  grown 
less  frequent,  it  was  no  less  gracious  when  it 
came. 

"  Haven't    the    windows    been    opened    in    this 


An  Old  Lover  133 

room?  "  was  Letitia's  first  question.  She  fixed  her 
eyes  on  guilty  Deborah. 

"  Only  for  a  minute." 

"  I  feel  the  dampness.  I  am  sorry  to  be  so 
troublesome,  but  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  put  on 
another  stick  of  wood  and  to  get  me  my  white  Chud- 
dah  shawl." 

Lucy  came  in  just  then,  and  after  a  few  minutes 
they  went  out  into  the  dining-room.  Mr.  Hollis 
was  struck  by  the  modern  air  of  the  table,  with  the 
four  silver  candlesticks  and  their  pink  shades, 
while  the  lettuce  with  a  French  dressing  and  the 
quail  on  toast  were  an  equal  surprise  to  him.  He 
was  very  hungry,  and  felt  obtrusively  masculine  as 
he  seated  himself  between  Letitia  and  Deborah,  and 
tried  to  assume  an  indifference  to  food  that  he  did 
not  feel.  As  the  meal  proceeded  it  was  evident  to 
the  Reverend  Francis  Hollis  that  there  was  to  be 
nothing  noteworthy  in  his  conversation  with  Letitia 
until  they  were  alone.  Deborah  did  most  of  the 
talking,  and  with  her  ready  wit  and  piquant  figures 
of  speech  was  always  amusing.  He  wondered  she 
had  never  impressed  him  more  in  the  old  days. 

"  Will  you  have  another  quail  ?  "  Miss  Deborah 
asked  him,  when  a  discussion  on  Anti-Imperialism 
had  begun  to  languish. 

Something  in  Letitia's  expression  warned  him 
that  Deborah's  question  had  been  indiscreet,  and 


134  J°nn  Forsyth's  Aunts 

that  he  ought  to  reply  in  the  negative,  but  as  there 
were  two  more  on  the  platter  and  he  was  accustomed 
tc  a  late  dinner,  he  found  himself  saying,  "  I  will. 
I  feel  very  apologetic,  bringing  my  man's  appetite 
in  among  all  you  ladies." 

"  Frank,  you  are  a  great  comfort  to  me,"  said 
Miss  Deborah.  "  I  have  a  man's  appetite  myself, 
and  quail  never  satisfies  it,  but  I  couldn't  ask  for 
cold  beef  for  myself  alone.  Bridget,  please  bring 
in  some  slices  of  cold  beef  for  Mr.  Hollis  and  me." 

Letitia's  face  told  him  plainly  that  he  would  write 
himself  out  of  her  good  books  if  he  helped  himself 
to  cold  beef;  nevertheless  he  went  boldly  over  to 
Deborah's  side.  He  remembered  one  or  two  occa- 
sions in  their  childhood  when  he  and  Deborah  had 
been  partners  in  scrapes,  long  before  he  had  fallen 
in  love  with  Letitia.  Letitia,  he  remembered,  had 
been  rather  an  aggravating  little  girl.  Frank  and 
Deborah  joked  merrily  and  talked  of  their  childhood 
as  they  ate  the  cold  beef.  It  seemed  symbolical 
of  hearty  good  cheer  and  lack  of  pretension.  He 
was  sure  that  those  candlesticks  with  their  pink 
shades  had  never  emanated  from  Deborah's  brain. 
Letitia  had  grown  silent.  She  delicately  played 
with  her  salad  and  toyed  with  her  quail.  He  knew 
she  was  displeased  with  him.  Letitia's  silence  had 
always  been  a  more  formidable  weapon  than  the 
open  anger  of  other  women.  How  handsome  she 


An  Old  Lover  135 

looked !  She  had  a  little  color  now,  and  he  was  be- 
ginning to  like  her  gray  hair. 

When  tea  was  over  the  sisters  slipped  away  one 
at  a  time,  just  as  they  had  done  in  the  old  days 
when  there  had  been  twice  as  many  of  them,  and 
Francis  Hollis  found  himself  alone  with  Letitia. 
He  longed  to  get  close  to  her  inner  self,  and  to  know 
what  the  years,  that  on  the  whole  had  been  kinder 
to  him  than  he  deserved,  had  brought  her,  but  she 
continued  to  keep  him  at  arm's  length.  He  had 
never  felt  near  her,  even  when  his  love  was  the 
greatest,  but  then  he  had  supposed  this  was  because 
of  his  inferiority.  Now  he  was  puzzled.  Those 
beautiful  eyes  with  their  unfathomable  expression 
suggested  a  deep  nature.  He  felt  that  she  was  too 
reserved  to  confide  in  anyone;  and  that  she  had 
passed  through  childhood  and  youth  to  middle-age, 
a  solitary  figure,  asking  neither  advice  nor  sym- 
pathy. 

They  discussed  recent  literature  for  a  time, 
but  merely  grazed  the  outside  of  things.  Then  they 
spoke  of  old  friends,  in  a  conventional  way.  At  last 
by  devious  paths  he  brought  the  conversation  back 
to  their  youth. 

"  Those  were  the  good  days,"  he  stated.  "  I 
never  see  a  young  man  just  starting  out  in  life  that 
I  don't  feel  a  great  sense  of  envy." 

"  I  see  no  reason  to  regret  youth,"  said  Letitia, 


136  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

leaning  back  gracefully,  and  drawing  her  white 
shawl  about  her.  "  Youth  is  a  time  of  strain  and 
stress,  when  we  long  for  the  impossible.  As  we 
grow  older,  if  we  are  moderately  unselfish,  we  find 
our  interest  centering  in  other  people.  Middle-age 
is  a  far  more  restful  time  of  life." 

"  You  were  always  reasonable,  Letitia.  For  my- 
self, I  would  give  anything  in  the  world  to  be  young 
again." 

"  I  can  understand  feeling  so  if  one  has  wasted 
one's  opportunities,  but  when  people  have  done  use- 
ful work  in  the  world  and  have  as  little  to  regret  as 
you  and  I  have,  why  is  not  one  period  of  life  as  satis- 
fying as  another?  " 

"  Why?  "  he  cried  sharply.  "  Because  men  and 
women  never  enjoy  the  limitations  of  age.  They 
merely  accept  them  and  try  to  make  the  best  of  them. 
It  is  all  very  well  for  us  now,  but  ten  or  twenty  years 
hence  how  will  it  be?  Do  you  mean  to  tell  me  in 
serious  earnest  that  you  would  as  lief  be  seventy  as 
seventeen?  " 

"  I  can't  tell  how  I  shall  feel  at  seventy.  I  only 
know  that  I  have  never  come  to  the  time  yet  when 
life  has  not  seemed  desirable." 

The  precious  moments  were  slipping  by,  and 
Francis  Hollis  still  had  that  baffled  feeling. 

"  By  the  way,  how  is  your  father-in-law?  "  Leti- 
tia asked  presently.  "  I  always  liked  old  Mr.  New- 


An  Old  Lover  137 

hall.  He  is  an  example  of  what  a  contented  period 
old  age  may  be,  and  yet  he  has  had  his  trials." 

"  Yes.  I  have  often  wished,"  he  added  impul- 
sively, "  that  his  greatest  trial  had  been  spared  him. 
I  wish  your  sister  Lucy  had  married  Alec.  She 
would  have  been  the  making  of  him." 

"  You  wish  my  sister  Lucy  had  married  a  man 
like  Alec  New-hall  ?  "  Miss  Letitia  lost  all  her  in- 
difference and  sat  up  very  straight,  her  eyes  bright, 
a  delicate  color  in  her  cheeks." 

"  Yes.  It  was  because  he  thought  she  had  been 
playing  with  him  that  he  grew  reckless." 

"  I  do  not  agree  with  you.  A  man  who  was  so 
weak  would  have  shown  his  weakness  after  mar- 
riage. I  have  never  ceased  to  thank  Providence  for 
my  sister's  fortunate  escape.  There  are  some  things 
no  woman  can  ever  forgive." 

Miss  Letitia  disliked  even  to  touch  on  so  delicate 
a  topic.  She  thought  it  in  extremely  poor  taste  for 
Francis  Hollis  to  have  introduced  the  subject. 

"  I  cannot  even  understand  a  man  like  Alec  New- 
hall,"  she  said  coldly. 

"  No,"  said  Frank  Hollis  slowly,  "  I  don't  sup- 
pose you  can." 

In  that  moment  with  a  flash  of  revelation,  he  real- 
ized the  narrowness  of  a  woman's  point  of  view 
when  she  is  shut  away  from  any  vital  contact  with 
the  world.  He  had  a  mad  desire  to  tell  Letitia 


138  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Wyatt  a  few  brutal  facts.  She  had  gone  placidly 
through  life  with  eyes  closed  to  its  real  significance. 
He  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  wonder  if  he  had  over- 
estimated her  in  the  old  days;  her  personal  charm 
was  too  great  for  that,  but  he  was  sure  her  stagnant 
existence  had  failed  to  develop  her  best  powers. 
Had  she  married  him  and  led  the  active  life  of  the 
wife  of  a  minister,  having  every  gift  she  possessed 
brought  in  play,  as  had  been  the  case  with  Sophy, 
she  would  have  been  a  more  sympathetic  woman 
now.  And  yet  he  could  not  imagine  her  engaging 
in  all  the  homely  drudgery  that  had  fallen  to 
Sophy's  lot,  and  neither  could  he  fancy  her  comfort- 
ing the  sick  and  fallen,  getting  close  to  the  hearts  of 
the  humblest  and  most  sinful  men  and  women. 

Letitia  glanced  surreptitiously  at  the  clock.  It 
was  a  quarter  of  ten.  She  had  not  sat  up  so  late 
since  her  illness.  She  began  to  realize  that  the 
evening  had  been  a  strain,  and  wished  that  Deborah 
or  Lucy  would  come  to  her  assistance.  "  So  few 
men  know  when  they  have  stayed  long  enough," 
was  her  mental  comment. 

"  It  has  been  the  greatest  pleasure  to  see  you, 
Frank,"  she  said,  hoping  that  he  would  take  this  as 
a  hint  to  go.  "  I  trust  that  it  will  not  be  another 
twenty  years  before  we  meet,  but  if  it  is  I  think  I 
can  promise  to  show  you  how  happy  one  can  be  at 
eighty." 


An  Old  Lover  139 


"  I  fancy  you  will  always  be  contented,  Letitia." 

"  It  is  no  credit  to  me.  I  am  fortunate  in  in- 
heriting my  mothers  disposition." 

He  rose.  "  I  have  enjoyed  the  evening  ex- 
tremely. It  has  been  so  good  to  see  you  again. 
You  have  changed  very  little  in  twenty  years." 

Letitia  wished  that  she  could  return  the  com- 
pliment. In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  did  not  won- 
der that  Francis  Hollis  disliked  growing  old.  It 
must  be  a  great  trial  to  be  so  stout  and  bald. 

Hearing  the  front  door  open  Deborah  and  Lucy 
came  to  bid  their  guest  good-night.  Deborah 
dashed  madly  forward  and  seized  her  cat  just  as  he 
was  about  to  make  a  bold  strike  for  freedom  and  slip 
unobserved  through  the  door. 

"Letitia  Wyatt!"  she  exclaimed.  "If  I  hadn't 
been  here  you  would  have  let  Mr.  Gray  out,  and 
heaven  only  knows  whether  he  ever  would  have 
come  back.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  be  so  thought- 
less." 

She  took  up  the  cat  and  stroked  him  lov- 
ingly. 

"  Dear,  good  old  friends,"  Mr.  Hollis  said  to 
himself,  as  he  closed  their  hospitable  door.  "  It  has 
been  a  pleasure  to  see  them  again." 

Nevertheless  it  was  a  relief  to  get  out  into  the 
broader  atmosphere  of  a  man's  world. 

And  if  his  journey  East  had  been  undertaken  with 


140  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

the  enthusiasm  of  a  schoolboy,  and  his  return  was 
made  in  the  chastened  frame  of  mind  of  middle-age, 
there  were  compensations.  He  was  going  home  to 
dear  Sophy. 


A  NEIGHBORHOOD  ROMANCE 


VII 
A  NEIGHBORHOOD  ROMANCE 

"  TV    /TY  brother,  Mark   Henderson,  is  coming   to 
.1. V JL       stav  with  me  next  week,"  Mrs.  Lutter- 

vvorth  announced  to  the  reading-club. 
The  reading-club  tried  to  look  properly  sympa- 
thetic, but  they  had  heard  of  the  intended  visits  of 
this  brother  so  many  times  that  they  had  grown 
sceptical.  The  Reverend  Ezra  Lutterworth  and  his 
wife  had  been  settled  in  Eppingham  for  seven  years. 
Mr.  Henderson  had  come,  in  the  early  days  of  his 
brother-in-law's  pastorate,  intending  to  stay  a  week, 
but  had  been  unexpectedly  called  away  at  the  end  of 
forty-eight  hours,  and  although  his  sister  had  urged 
a  repetition  of  the  visit  every  summer,  he  was  sure 
to  find  some  good  reason  for  not  coming,  and  con- 
tented himself  instead  with  joining  the  Lutterworths 
at  the  seashore  for  a  part  of  their  vacation.  This 
year,  however,  he  was  going  to  Europe  for  six 
months,  and  his  sister  had  peremptorily  insisted  on 
the  visit. 

J  43 


144  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Ladies,"  she  said,  "  what  on  earth  I  am  going 
to  do  with  Mark  on  my  hands  for  a  whole  week  I 
don't  know.  He  is  the  kind  of  man  who  requires  an 
enormous  amount  of  amusement,  and  then  he  Is  used 
to  his  glass  of  wine  every  day,  and  Mr.  Lutterworth, 
as  you  know,  will  not  allow  wine  in  his  house." 

"  And  he  is  entirely  right,"  said  Miss  Deborah 
Wyatt  staunchly. 

"  Oh,  of  course  he  is  right,  but  being  brought  up 
as  I  was  in  a  house  where  wine  flowed  as  freely  as 
water  I  can  see  Mark's  side  too.  I  want  him  to  real- 
ize how  delightful  Eppingham  is,"  she  continued. 
"  You  know  he  has  never  really  stayed  here  and  he 
fancies " 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  what  he  fancies,"  broke  in  Miss 
Letitia  Wyatt,  "  from  the  fact  that  he  has  never  re- 
peated his  visit." 

"  Does  he  like  dancing?  "  Laura  Macauley  asked. 
"  I  have  been  longing  to  give  a  dancing-party  ever 
since  we  have  widened  our  piazza..  It  would  be  so 
charming  hung  with  Japanese  lanterns." 

"  He  used  to  delight  in  dancing,  but  Mark  is  get- 
ting on  now.  Let  me  see,  he  must  be  thirty-six. 
Mark  is  an  irresponsible  sort  of  person  who  never 
means  to  marry,"  Mrs.  Lutterworth  went  on,  shat- 
tering the  castles  in  the  air  that  the  older  women 
were  building  for  their  young  friends.  "  He  has 
led  a  roving  life  and  enjoys  it.  He  is  a  delightful 


A  Neighborhood  Romance          145 

companion,  a  thoughtless,  careless  sort  of  fellow,  but 
somehow  you  can  never  be  angry  with  him." 

"  I  haven't  the  least  idea  he  will  come,"  said 
Laura  Macauley,  as  she  and  Frances  Simonds 
walked  along  together  after  the  club,  "  but  I  am 
going  to  have  my  party  just  the  same.  I  invite  you 
now,  Frances." 

"  Thank  you.  I  hate  parties,  because  I  dance  so 
badly." 

"  You  must  come  just  the  same,  if  it  is  only  to 
look  on." 

Mrs.  Lutterworth  herself  was  surprised  when  her 
brother  actually  arrived  on  Thursday  evening,  only 
two  days  later  than  he  had  planned. 

"  Sally,"  he  said,  giving  his  sister  an  affectionate 
hug,  "  it  is  awfully  good  to  see  you." 

Mrs.  Lutterworth  was  never  called  Sally  by  any- 
one else;  she  was  surprised  to  find  how  much  she 
liked  it.  The  name  seemed  a  part  of  her  gay,  care- 
less youth. 

"  You  manage  to  live  without  me  pretty  comfor- 
tably for  long  periods,"  she  observed  drily. 

"  Ah,  Sally,  you  don't  know  the  agony  I  suffer," 
he  exclaimed  melodramatically. 

"  Get  along  with  you,  you  silly  boy !     I  believe 
you  will  never  grow  up.     By  the  way,  there  is  a 
kind  young  lady  who  is  going  to  give  a  dancing- 
party  for  you." 
10 


146  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  A  dancing-party  for  me!  Well,  I  declare!  Dew 
tell,  as  you  say  in  this  part  of  the  world.  I  want  ter 
know!" 

"  She  is  giving  it  partly  for  you,  and  partly  to 
show  off  her  new  piazza.  And  we  talk  very  correct- 
ly in  this  part  of  the  world  I  must  tell  you.  We  are 
intelligent.  We  read  Darwin  and  Herbert  Spen- 
cer." 

"  The  deuce  you  do !  I  beg  your  pardon,  Sally. 
You  don't  mean  to  say  I've  got  to  go  to  this  con- 
founded party,  do  you,  in  this  hot  weather?  You 
allow  people  to  say  '  confound  it,'  don't  you  ?  under 
this  Evangelical  roof?  To  think  that  you,  of  all 
people,  Sally,  should  have  married  a  parson." 

"  Of  course  you've  got  to  go  to  it.  It  comes  off 
to-morrow  night,  and  all  Eppingham  will  be  present, 
the  old  and  middle-aged  as  well  as  the  young.  I 
assure  you  a  dancing-party  is  a  rare  thing  in  Ep- 
pingham, and  no  consideration  of  age  keeps  us  at 
home.  Those  of  us  whose  dancing  days  are  over 
look  on  and  watch  the  others. 

"  I'll  look  on  and  watch  the  others,"  he  declared. 


"  Your  dress  really  looks  very  nice,  Frances," 
Mrs.  Simonds  observed  to  her  daughter  on  the  even- 
ing of  the  party.  "  Ned,"  she  said  to  her  son,  "  did 
you  ever  see  Frances  look  so  well  ?  " 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  147 

Ned  gazed  at  his  sister  in  the  critical  manner  of 
brothers. 

"  She  does  have  more  style  than  usual,"  he  ad- 
mitted. 

"  It  is  all  on  account  of  those  dear  Wyatts,"  Fran- 
ces informed  him.  "  Miss  Lucy  fairly  insisted  I 
should  have  a  new  gown.  She  chose  this  for  me, 
and  they,  all  helped  me  make  it." 

"  I  thought  lilac  was  much  too  old  for  Frances," 
Mrs.  Simonds  remarked  in  her  usual  plaintive  tones, 
"  but  Lucy  said  the  color  suited  her  complexion,  and 
that  she  was  young  enough  to  carry  it  off.  Good- 
by,  dear.  Have  a  good  time." 

"  I  don't  expect  to  have  a  good  time,  mother. 
You  know  I  am  always  a  wall-flower,  but  I  have 
made  up  my  mind  not  to  stay  away  from  things  on 
that  account.  One  can  get  some  fun  just  from 
looking  on." 

"  To  think  that  I  should  have  a  daughter  like 
you,"  mourned  Mrs.  Simonds.  "  When  I  was  a  girl 
1  used  to  dance  every  dance,  and  I  had  to  divide 
most  of  them;  but  you  are  just  like  your  father.  It 
seems  as  if  it  was  more  than  I  could  bear  that  you 
have  made  up  your  mind  to  be  a  trained  nurse." 

Frances  waved  a  good-by  to  her  mother.  She 
was  in  high  spirits,  and  amused  her  brother  on  the 
way  to  the  Macauleys'  with  an  imaginary  conversa- 
tion between  herself  and  the  lion  of  the  evening. 


148  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Frances,  why  is  it  you  never  have  a  word  to  say 
to  any  of  the  fellows  who  come  to  the  house,  when 
you  talk  like  a  blue  streak  when  we  are  by  our- 
selves? "  Ned  asked  her. 

"  I'm  scared." 

"  Scared !  And  yet  you  are  planning  to  be  a 
trained  nurse !  " 

"  I'm  afraid  of  young  men.  I  think  by  the  time  I 
am  fifty  I  shall  begin  to  enjoy  life." 

Ned  Simonds  was  a  sufficiently  good  brother  to 
ask  his  sister  to  waltz,  although  he  knew  she  did  not 
waltz  well,  but  his  magnanimity  was  not  great 
enough  to  bear  in  silence  the  contretemps  that  hap- 
pened, for,  owing  to  her  difficulty  in  reversing,  they 
stumbled  against  Mr.  Henderson,  who  was  dancing 
with  Laura  Macauley,  and  after  a  fearful  moment 
of  uncertainty  found  themselves  reclining  on  the 
highly  polished  floor. 

"  I'm  ashamed  of  you,"  her  brother  said,  in  tones 
that  reached  the  other  couple.  "  If  I  hadn't  sup- 
posed you  could  do  better  than  that  I  wouldn't  have 
asked  you." 

Henderson's  chivalrous  soul  protested  against 
such  a  public  castigation.  He  turned  to  look  at  the 
victim.  "  No  one  but  a  brother  could  talk  like 
that,"  he  observed  to  his  partner. 

"  Yes,  he  is  her  brother.  I  can't  think  how  she 
came  to  be  so  stupid." 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  149 

The  situation  interested  Henderson,  and  when  the 
waltz  was  over,  he  contrived  to  seat  his  partner  next 
to  Frances. 

"  You  don't  care,"  Ned  was  saying.  "  You  don't 
mind  making  me  the  laughing-stock  of  everybody, 
to  say  nothing  of  yourself." 

"  Of  course  I  care,"  she  protested.  "  You  don't 
suppose  I  did  it  on  purpose  to  amuse  myself;  but  I 
don't  think  it  is  worth  while  to  say  anything  more 
about  it.  It  isn't  as  if  I  had  committed  a  crime." 

"  Is  there  anyone  you  would  like  me  to  present 
you  to  ?  "  Ned  Simonds  asked  Henderson  suavely 
later  in  the  evening. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  to  be  introduced  to  the  girl  in 
lilac." 

"My  sister?"  he  inquired  in  surprise.  "She 
isn't  a  good  dancer,  as  you  may  have  noticed." 

"  I  want  to  apologize  to  her  for  having  been  so 
clumsy  as  to  knock  her  down." 

"  Oh,  but  it  was  entirely  her  fault.  She  isn't  used 
to  reversing." 

"  I  ought  to  have  been  quick  enough  to  get  out  of 
the  way." 

Frances,  in  her  corner  behind  the  palms,  was 
looking  out  on  life  with  that  keen  expression  of  in- 
terest and  amused  comprehension  that  went  far  to 
redeem  the  plainness  of  her  face.  A  party  was  to 
her  a  world  in  miniature,  where  character  showed 


150  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

itself  with  surprising  distinctness.  There  was  Miss 
Lucy,  in  a  pale  gray  silk  gown,  crushed  into  a  cor- 
ner, and  when  she  was  at  last  discovered,  passing  on 
her  plate  of  salad  and  croquettes  to  Mrs.  Simonds. 
Miss  Letitia,  on  the  other  hand,  who  was  command- 
ingly  in  evidence,  gave  up  her  plate  for  quite  a  differ- 
ent reason,  demanding  creamed  halibut  with  her  salad 
instead  of  croquettes.  As  for  her  dear  Miss  Deb- 
orah she  had  joined  the  ranks  of  the  men  and  gone 
boldly  to  the  dining-room,  returning  with  two  well- 
filled  plates,  one  destined  for  Letitia,  the  other  for 
Lucy. 

"  My  sister,  Miss  Simonds,  Mr.  Henderson." 

The  words  seemed  to  come  to  Frances  from  that 
land  of  mocking  fantasy  where  she  and  her  brother 
had  been  sojourning  on  their  way  to  the  Macauleys'. 
She  looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  Henderson's  tall,  slight 
figure  looming  above  her,  and  his  laughing  dark 
eyes  looking  down  at  her. 

"  Miss  Simonds,"  a  pleasant  voice  said,  "  I've 
been  telling  your  brother  I  owe  you  an  apology  for 
my  stupidity  earlier  in  the  evening.  Won't  you  let 
me  make  it  out  on  the  piazza?  It  is  stifling  here. 
It  would  be  such  a  pity  if  Miss  Macauley's  new  piaz- 
za wasn't  appreciated.  Let  me  find  a  seat  for  you 
and  I  will  get  something  for  you  to  eat." 

He  had  the  easy  assurance  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
and  Frances  soon  found  herself  talking  to  him  as 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  151 

unaffectedly  as  she  talked  to  her  brother.  She  did 
not  altogether  like  Mr.  Henderson,  but  he  amused 
her.  After  a  time  she  said,  "  I  wish  I  knew  what 
you  think  of  us — of  Eppingham,  I  mean,  we  must 
bore  you  so." 

"  Miss  Simonds,  let  me  confide  to  you  that  I  have 
never  been  bored  for  more  than  quarter  of  an  hour 
at  a  time  in  my  whole  life." 

She  laughed  merrily.  "  I  can  quite  believe  you. 
My  brother  could  say  the  same.  Whenever, 
through  any  chain  of  untoward  circumstances,  bores 
come  to  our  house,  Ned  vanishes.  I  can't  say  I  have 
never  been  bored  for  more  than  quarter  of  an  hour. 
He  goes,  and  I  stay." 

"  And  you  think  I  am  like  your  brother  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  of  it." 

"  Miss  Simonds,  you  have  unusual  penetration." 

"  I  have  so  much  penetration  that  I  am  going  to 
ask  you  to  take  me  into  the  house  to  Miss  Lucy 
Wyatt.  I  want  to  leave  you  before  the  quarter  of  an 
hour  is  up." 

He  laughed.  She  was  refreshingly  original.  "  If 
you  want  to  get  rid  of  me,  Miss  Simonds,  you  are 
not  going  about  it  in  the  right  way,"  he  observed. 
"  The  music  is  beginning.  I  shall  not  be  satisfied 
until  you  have  given  me  a  waltz." 

"  No,"  she  said,  at  once  shrinking  into  her  shell. 
"  I  can't  do  that." 


152  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  You  not  only  can,  but  you  will,  for  you  owe  it  to 
me  to  make  public  amends  for  my  awkwardness." 

"  Your  awkwardness !  "  she  said  with  a  gay  little 
laugh. 

Henderson  was  as  good  a  dancer  as  Ned  Si- 
monds,  and  he  had  greater  patience.  Frances  did 
not  reverse  easily,  but  she  was  pliable,  and  quick  to 
fall  in  with  his  suggestions ;  the  result  was  that  they 
made  the  tour  of  the  parlor  twice  with  every  out- 
ward appearance  of  success,  giving  the  impression 
that  the  accident  earlier  in  the  evening  might  have 
happened  to  anyone.  When  the  dance  was  over 
Frances  asked  to  be  left  next  Miss  Lucy  Wyatt. 

"  Miss  Lucy,  can  you  go  to  drive  with  me  to-mor- 
row afternoon  to  get  wild-flowers  to  arrange  at 
church  ?  "  Frances  asked,  as  Mr.  Henderson  was 
borne  off  by  Miss  Macauley  to  be  introduced  to  Ber- 
tha Hall,  a  dark-eyed  girl  who  was  resplendent  in  a 
low-necked  gown. 

"  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  go,  dear.  How  beauti- 
fully you  waltz,"  was  the  comforting  remark  of  this 
always  tactful  friend. 

Greatly  to  the  surprise  of  Frances,  Mr.  Hender- 
son came  back  before  the  evening  was  over,  and  pro- 
posed that  she  should  take  a  turn  with  him  through 
the  garden.  "  It  is  a  pity  to  waste  such  a  night, 
other  people  are  out  there,"  he  said,  looking  towards 
a  group  of  light  dresses  with  the  usual  smaller 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  153 

sprinkling  of  black  coats.  Frances  was  so  much 
amused  to  find  herself  walking  in  the  garden  with 
the  hero  of  the  evening  that  she  could  not  refrain 
from  giving  her  brother  a  mischievous  glance  as  they 
passed  him.  She  found  Ned's  face  an  interesting 
study. 

"  This  is  much  better  than  that  hot  room,"  Hen- 
derson said,  as  they  sat  down  on  a  bench.  "  I  am 
afraid  my  dancing  days  are  over." 

"  Mine  have  never  begun.  I  hate  parties,  but  that 
is  only  because  I  am  not  suited  to  them." 

"  What  do  you  like?" 

"  Things  you  would  find  very  stupid." 

"  I  am  interested  in  nearly  everything." 

"  I  like  making  bandages,  and  giving  medicine, 
and  dressing  wounds,"  she  said  demurely.  "  That 
is  my  idea  of  having  a  thoroughly  good  time.  I  am 
going  into  a  hospital  next  winter." 

"  Dear  me!  How  you  must  enjoy  life!  If  little 
trifles  of  that  sort  mean  a  good  time  to  you,  how 
overwhelmingly  delightful  you  must  find  the  great 
pleasures  of  life." 

"  What  is  your  idea  of  a  thoroughly  good  time?  " 
she  asked. 

"  You  will  despise  me  when  I  tell  you.  It  is  do- 
ing nothing,  in  a  heavenly  place  with  a  congenial 
companion.  Drifting  about  in  a  gondola  in  Venice, 
for  instance,  or  gliding  over  the  Italian  Lakes,  or,  I 


154  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

might  even  like  driving  through  these  country 
roads." 

"  I  will  tell  Mrs.  Lutterworth.  I  have  no  doubt 
Mr.  Lutterworth  will  take  you  with  him  when  he 
makes  some  of  his  distant  parish  calls." 

He  looked  at  her  to  see  if  she  were  in  earnest. 

"  I  did  not  have  my  brother-in-law  in  mind,"  he 
informed  her.  "  I  was  thinking  how  pleasant  it 
would  be  if  you  and  the  lady  with  the  yellow  hair, 
Miss I  forget  her  name." 

"  Miss  Lucy  Wyatt." 

"  Oh,  yes.  I  thought  if  you  would  invite  me  to 
go  after  wild-flowers  with  you  to-morrow,  it  would 
be  what  I  should  like." 

"  I  am  so  glad.  I  have  always  wanted  to  take 
somebody  with  us  who  would  get  out  and  pick  the 
flowers.  Now  if  you  go,  I  can  sit  in  the  carriage 
with  Miss  Lucy  while  you  do  all  the  work.  I  will 
get  father  to  let  me  have  the  carryall,  and  perhaps 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  would  like  to  come  too." 


"Well,  Frances,  did  you  have  a  good  time?" 
Mrs.  Simonds  asked,  coming  out  of  her  bedroom  as 
Frances  and  Ned  went  by  the  door. 

"  Yes.  Mr.  Henderson  was  very  devoted.  He 
waltzed  with  me  and  took  me  out  into  the  garden." 

"  Don't  joke,  dear.     It  makes  me  so  unhappy  to 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  155 

know  the  things  didn't  really  happen.  Did  you  have 
a  very  stupid  time?  " 

"  Ask  Ned  if  I  am  joking." 

"  He  really  did  devote  himself  to  her  most  of  the 
evening.  They  got  on  like  a  breeze.  I  can't  think 
what  has  come  over  her." 

"  He  invited  himself  to  go  after  wild  flowers  with 
Miss  Lucy  and  me  to-morrow,"  Frances  announced. 
"  It  shows  how  hard  up  he  is  for  amusement,  poor 
man." 

The  next  afternoon  Miss  Letitia  and  Miss  Deb- 
orah watched  the  little  party  drive  off  with  feelings 
of  the  truest  interest  and  keenest  satisfaction. 

"  I  do  wish  that  pleasant  fellow  would  take  a 
fancy  to  Frances,"  Miss  Deborah  said  to  her  sister. 

"  My  dear,  she  isn't  at  all  the  sort  of  girl  men  fall 
in  love  with." 

"  I  know  it.  It  only  shows  how  little  sense  they 
have." 

"  I  am  glad  she  is  enjoying  herself  for  once  in  her 
life  like  other  girls.  It  will  do  her  good,"  said  Miss 
Letitia. 

When  Lucy  came  back  at  night  her  sisters  ques- 
tioned her  eagerly. 

"  Is  Mr.  Henderson  as  delightful  as  he  looks  ?  " 
Miss  Letitia  asked. 

"  Yes.  He  and  Frances  sat  on  the  front  seat,  so 
we  didn't  have  much  talk  with  him.  I  never  saw 


156  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Frances  in  such  good  spirits.  She  did  not  seem  in 
the  least  afraid  of  him.  I  thought  she  was  going  to 
insist  on  his  picking  the  swamp  honeysuckle  without 
any  help,  but  she  relented.  In  one  place  we  all  got 
out  and  tied  the  horse.  It  was  a  glorious  afternoon. 
They  are  planning  a  picnic  for  Monday,  just  a  little 
one.  You  would  both  of  you  like  to  go,  wouldn't 
you?  " 

"  I  should,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 

"Are  all  the  Lutterworth  children  going?"  in- 
quired Miss  Letitia. 

"  I  think  so." 

"  Heaven  preserve  us !  I  dislike  a  crowd  of  chil- 
dren, and  I  am  not  fond  of  eating  my  meals  out-of- 
doors,  but  if  you  are  both  going  I  don't  want  to  be 
left  behind." 

The  day  of  the  picnic  Mr.  Henderson  conducted 
himself  in  such  a  way  as  to  give  a  subject  for  con- 
versation to  his  sister  and  Miss  Letitia  Wyatt.  He 
appropriated  Frances  as  calmly  as  if  she  had  been  an 
old  friend,  and  ignored  both  Laura  Macauley  and 
Bertha  Hall.  When  Frances  took  two  of  the  Lut- 
terworth children  into  the  woods  to  get  ferns,  he 
followed,  and  whatever  she  did  he  contrived  to  be 
near  her. 

"  Your  brother  seems  to  have  taken  a  great  fancy 
to  Frances,"  Miss  Letitia  began,  when  she  and  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  were  left  on  the  hillside  together. 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  157 

"  My  brother  is  always  taking  a  great  fancy  to 
some  girl.  He  has  no  more  sense  of  responsibility, 
or  the  fitness  of  things  than  a  small  boy.  If  he  likes 
a  woman  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  not  be 
with  her  sixteen  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four.  I 
should  have  to  take  him  to  task  if  he  were  going  to 
stay  longer,  but  his  week  will  be  up  on  Thurs- 
day." 

When  Mrs.  Lutterworth  discovered  that  her 
brother  intended  to  prolong  his  visit,  she  felt  it  nec- 
essary to  speak  to  him  plainly. 

"  Mark,"  she  began,  "  I  always  did  dislike  to  in- 
terfere with  your  pleasures,  but  I  must  tell  you  that 
it  isn't  fair  for  you  to  monopolize  a  girl  as  you  have 
been  doing  the  last  week.  I  know  .you  don't  care 
anything  for  her,  and  that  it  is  only  your  way  of 
passing  the  time,  but  how  can  she  know  it?  And  if 
she  does,  other  people  do  not.  She  has  never  had 
attention  and  your  devotion  is  enough  to  turn  any 
girl's  head." 

"  Don't  be  absurd,  Sally.  Miss  Simonds  has  a 
head  that  is  firmly  fastened  on  her  shoulders.  She 
is  going  into  a  hospital  next  winter.  This  is  posi- 
tively her  last  chance  to  amuse  herself.  She  is  get- 
ting a  little  knowledge  of  the  world  through  me.  It 
may  be  useful  to  her  later." 

"  I  don't  see  why  you  like  her  so  much.  She  is  a 
good  girl,  and  amusing,  when  you  know  her  well. 


158  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

but  she  isn't  pretty,  or  charming,  or  especially 
clever." 

"  She  is  perfectly  natural  and  unaffected.  She 
treats  me  as  if  I  were  a  comrade,  not  a  possible  ad- 
mirer, that  is  why  I  like  her,  and  she  is  delightfully 
unexpected.  I  never  know  what  she  is  going  to  say 
next" 

"  I  think  you  ought  to  realize,  Mark,  that  people 
are  beginning  to  talk." 

"  Let  them  talk  if  they  like.  Conversation  is 
cheap." 

"  Her  mother  seems  to  think  you  may  be  in  ear- 
nest." 

"  Her  mother  is  a  fool." 

"  That  is  perfectly  true,  but  it  isn't  becoming  in 
you  to  say  so.  I  never  suspected  that  Frances  would 
condescend  to  indulge  in  a  summer  flirtation." 

"A  flirtation?  Is  that  what  you  call  it?"  He 
threw  back  his  head  and  laughed.  "  I  never  was 
talked  to  so  plainly  by  anyone  in  my  life.  A  sister 
isn't  a  circumstance.  Miss  Simonds  seems  to  have 
discovered  every  hidden  fault  I  have." 

"  I  can  give  you  plenty  of  conversation  in  the 
same  line,  if  that  is  what  you  like." 

"  She  is  so  amusing  about  it.  She  is  as  refresh- 
ing as  the  east  wind.  We  are  going  up  the  moun- 
tain to-morrow.  Her  brother  and  Miss  Macauley 
are  coming  too." 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  159 

"  Well,  I  wash  my  hands  of  you.  I  have  given 
you  warning.  It  isn't  any  affair  of  mine." 

It  was  just  a  week  later  that  Mrs.  Lutterworth 
found  it  necessary  to  speak  to  her  brother  again. 

"When  are  you  going  home,  Mark?"  she  in- 
quired bluntly.  "  Of  course  I  am  delighted  to  have 
you  stay  until  you  sail,  if  you  are  contented  here, 
but  I  am  expecting  other  guests,  and  you  must  give 
me  some  idea  when  I  can  have  your  room." 

"  I  thought  I  would  stay  another  week  if  you  will 
keep  me,  but  I  can  go  to  the  hotel." 

"  I  think  I  see  myself  letting  you  go  to  the  hotel ! 
Mark,  I  wish  you  would  go  home  to-morrow,  for 
the  sake  of  Miss  Simonds." 

"  For  the  sake  of  Miss  Simonds  I  would  much 
rather  stay  here." 

"You  have  no  idea  how  people  are  talking;  on 
one  side  you  are  called  a  desperate  flirt,  and  are  said 
to  be  on  the  road  to  breaking  her  heart,  on  the  other 
you  are  supposed  to  be  engaged  to  her." 

"  I  wish  I  were.  If  you  will  keep  me  a  week 
longer  I  hope  I  shall  be." 

"  Mark !  "  It  was  twilight,  and  Mrs.  Lutter- 
worth could  not  see  her  brother's  expression. 
"  Mark,"  she  repeated,  going  over  to  him  and  taking 
his  hand,  "  you  are  not  in  earnest?  " 

He  put  his  head  down  on  her  shoulder  as  he  used 


160  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

to  do  when  he  was  a  boy,  and  gave  her  cool  hand  a 
hot  pressure. 

"  I  am  in  earnest,"  he  said  simply. 

"  Mark  Henderson,  you  don't  mean  that  you,  ir- 
responsible as  the  wind,  you,  who  have  said  over  and 
over  again  that  you  should  never  marry,  because  you 
had  never  seen  a  woman  you  would  not  tire  of  in  six 
weeks,  you  don't  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  thinking  of 
marrying  a  country  girl  with  neither  beauty,  nor 
charm,  nor  money?  " 

"  I  mean  it,  Sally.  I  mean  that  I  have  seen  the 
woman  I  shall  not  tire  of  in  six  weeks." 

"  You  will  regret  it,"  she  said  vehemently.  "  You 
will  live  to  be  bitterly  sorry  you  ever  took  such  a 
step." 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  regret  it.  I  have  regretted  most 
things  I  have  done.  I  am  only  sure  I  can't  let  her 
go.  I  should  be  a  different  man  with  her.  She  is  so 
staunch  and  true,  so  loyal,  and  best  of  all,"  he  added 
with  a  little  smile,  "  she  has  such  a  sense  of  humor. 
Fancy  what  it  would  be  to  me.  Sally,  to  go  through 
life  with  someone  who  would  understand  all  my 
jokes." 

"  I  believe  if  you  were  dying  you  would  make  a 
joke  of  it,"  she  said  severely.  "  I  beg  you  won't  do 
anything  in  a  hurry.  Promise  me  that  you  will  go 
to  Europe  without  telling  her  how  you  feel.  Write 
to  her  while  you  are  gone,  if  you  like,  but  don't  com- 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  161 

mit  yourself.  You  will  see  things  differently  when 
you  get  away  from  Eppingham,  It  is  only  that  you 
have  had  so  little  to  do  here." 

"  Sally,  I  am  going  to  ask  her    to    marry    me. 
Nothing  you  say  will  make  any  difference." 


The  sun  was  setting,  and  the  river  was  gray  and 
gold.  The  firs  stood  out  sharply  against  the  gold  of 
the  sky.  It  was  a  cool  evening  suggesting  October 
rather  than  June,  just  the  evening  for  a  walk,  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  said,  and  she  proposed  to  her  husband 
and  brother  that  they  should  ask  Miss  Simonds  to 
go  with  them.  They  had  taken  the  walk,  and  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  had  at  last  succeeded  in  making  Mr. 
Lutterworth  go  home  with  her.  They  left  the  two 
young  people  sitting  on  one  of  the  seats  that  ran 
along  the  sides  of  the  bridge.  Mr.  Lutterworth 
could  see  no  reason  why  he  should  not  stay  with 
them.  Their  society  was  congenial  to  him  and  he 
was  in  no  hurry  to  go  home;  when  his  wife  re- 
minded him  that  his  sermon  was  unfinished  he 
turned  on  her  reproachfully,  wondering  how  she 
could  forget  that  he  never  wrote  in  the  evening. 

"  Do  stay  with  us,  Mr.  Lutterworth,"  Frances 
begged. 

Mark  said  nothing. 

Mr.  Lutterworth  was  irresolute.    It  had  ended  by 


162  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

his  wife's  drawing  her  arm  firmly  through  his  and 
turning  him  towards  home. 

"  Ezra,"  she  said,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of 
hearing,  "  your  sex  are  all  stupid,  but  you  are  posi- 
tively the  most  stupid  member  of  it,  for  a  clever 
man,  that  I  ever  came  across.  Didn't  you  see  that 
Mark  had  something  especial  he  wanted  to  say  to 
Frances  ?  " 

Mr.  Lutterworth  had  seen  nothing,  and  could 
hardly  believe  it  when  told  in  plain  words.  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  had  forgotten  that  her  own  surprise 
had  been  equally  great  a  week  ago.  She  looked  back 
with  wistful  envy  at  the  two  figures  outlined  against 
the  evening  sky.  She  loved  a  romance.  Her  mar- 
riage had  hardly  come  under  that  head,  and  so  many 
years  of  monotonous  living  had  intervened  since 
the  evening  when  Ezra  had  asked  her  to  be  his  wife 
that,  in  the  retrospect,  the  occasion  seemed  more 
matter-of-fact  than  it  was.  She  had  never  felt  for 
her  husband  the  irresistible  attraction  that  drew  her 
to  her  brother.  She  could  not  help  reflecting  with 
a  sigh  what  an  ideal  lover  Mark  would  make.  It 
seemed  a  pity  such  romantic  possibilities  should  be 
wasted  on  a  prosaic  girl  like  Frances  Simonds.  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  glanced  furtively  over  her  shoulder 
once  or  twice.  The  two  figures  were  still  side 
by  side.  Frances's  white  waist  stood  out  from 
its  dark  surroundings.  Mrs.  Lutterworth  found 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  163 

herself  hoping  Frances  would  dress  better  when  she 
was  Mark's  wife.  How  could  he,  who  was  so  fas- 
tidious, have  fallen  in  love  with  a  girl  for  whom 
evening  dress  was  half  the  time  represented  by  a 
clean  shirt-waist? 

"  Well,  Mark,  is  it  all  settled?"  his  sister  asked 
when  he  came  into  the  house.  Then  she  looked  up 
and  noticed  his  haggard  face. 

"  You  don't  mean  to  tell  me "  she  began. 

"  She  doesn't  care  for  me.  She  never  had  the 
least  idea  I  was  in  earnest." 

"  That  isn't  strange,  when  you  never  were  in 
earnest  before." 

Mark  sank  wearily  into  a  chair.  He  was  think- 
ing of  the  just  but  altogether  intolerable  punish- 
ments in  life. 

"  She  will  care  for  you  by  and  by,"  his  sister  as- 
sured him.  "  No  girl  could  help  it.  It  is  only  that 
this  is  the  first  time  the  idea  has  entered  her  mind." 

He  shook  his  head.  "  She  says  her  one  interest  in 
life  is  to  be  a  trained  nurse." 

"  Trained  fiddlesticks !  "  Mrs.  Lutterworth  ex- 
claimed contemptuously.  "  That  is  the  way  all 
girls  talk  until  they  fall  in  love." 

"  She  told  me,  too,  that  I  was  not  at  all  the  man 
she  could  care  for.  I  was  not  enough  in  earnest. 
Well,  perhaps  she  is  right,  but  it  is  a  little  hard  on 
me." 


164  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

A  romance  was  such  a  rare  thing  in  Eppingham 
that  all  the  ladies  in  town  felt  a  personal  interest  in 
this  one.  There  had  been  nothing  more  pronounced 
than  mild  flirtations  among  the  aristocracy  since 
John  Forsyth's  marriage  to  Esther  Norris,  but  that 
was  only  a  pale  affair  compared  to  the  present  ex- 
citing drama,  for  no  one  had  suspected  John's  en- 
gagement until  it  was  an  accomplished  fact,  whereas 
now  it  was  rumored  on  every  side  that  Mark  Hen- 
derson had  offered  himself  to  Frances  Simonds. 
Rumor  became  certainty  for  the  Miss  Wyatts  when 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  came  over  one  evening  in  the 
greatest  excitement. 

"  I  shall  go  crazy  if  I  don't  tell  somebody  what 
has  happened,"  she  began,  breathlessly.  "  You 
three  are  the  only  women  in  the  parish  who  can 
keep  a  secret.  Mark  has  offered  himself  to  Frances, 
and  she  has  refused  him !  " 

"No!" 

"  Is  it  possible?" 

"  You  don't  mean  so !  " 

"  It  is  true.  I  have  talked  to  her  like  a  mother 
and  sister,  but  I  can't  make  the  slightest  impression 
on  her.  She  only  sees  her  side  of  the  question.  She 
wants  to  be  a  nurse  and  help  her  father." 

"  It  seems  incredible  that  so  plain  a  girl  should 
have  such  an  exceptionally  good  offer,"  said  Miss 
Letitia,  "and  still  more  preposterous  that  she  should 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  165 

refuse  it.  Your  brother  is  rich,  well-connected  and 
charming.  What  more  can  she  ask  for  ?  " 

"  She  says  she  never  could  care  for  an  idle  man, 
as  if  mere  work  were  the  only  thing  to  live  for.  I 
have  no  patience  with  her.  What  do  you  think, 
Miss  Deborah  ?  " 

"  I  am  sure  she  is  making  a  great  mistake." 

"  I  wish  you  would  talk  to  her.  You  could  in- 
fluence her,  if  anyone  can.  She  isn't  in  the  least 
the  person  I  should  have  chosen  for  my  brother,  but 
I  never  knew  him  so  upset  by  anything." 

"  Frances,"  Miss  Deborah  began  abruptly,  the 
next  time  she  and  the  girl  took  a  walk  together, 
"  Mrs.  Lutterworth  tells  me  that  you  have  refused 
her  brother." 

Frances  gave  a  little  gasp.  "  I  don't  know  why 
she  should  have  told  you,"  she  said  stiffly. 

"  No  more  do  I,  my  dear,  but  she  did.  Now,  I 
want  to  know  why  you  were  so  foolish.  I  always 
thought  you  were  a  sensible  girl." 

"  I  had  good  reasons." 

"  In  other  words,  it  isn't  any  of  my  business. 
That  is  true,  except  that  I  am  more  fond  of  you 
than  of  any  young  girl  I  know,  and  I  don't  want  to 
see  you  making  a  mistake." 

Her  old  friend's  eyes  were  so  full  of  honest  affec- 
tion that  Frances  was  softened. 

"  I  have  never  regretted  my  life,"  Miss  Deborah 


166  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

continued.  "  It  has  been  best  for  me,  but  I  don't 
think  there  is  one  woman  in  a  hundred  who  is  hap- 
pier unmarried.  I  have  always  been  thankful  I 
didn't  have  a  husband.  It  is  bad  enough  to  get 
yourself  through  life  without  having  a  man  tagging 
along  whom  ^you've  got  to  lift  over  all  the  hard 
places." 

"  That  is  just  the  way  I  feel.  As  we  agree  so 
well,  why  do  you  think  I  am  making  a  mistake?  " 

"  Your  case  is  different.  You  haven't  sisters  to 
make  a  home  for  when  you  are  old,  and  you  and 
your  brother  care  for  such  different  things  that  you 
could  never  live  together,  and  then  I  was  too  prone 
to  see  the  ridiculous  ever  to  have  a  love-affair. 
Men,  it  must  be  confessed,  are  all  amusing." 

"  Women  are  amusing,  too." 

"  Yes,  but  women  are  light  comedy,  whereas  men 
are  broad  farce." 

"  I  didn't  know  what  the  trouble  was  before,  but 
I  suspect  I  have  too  much  sense  of  humor  to  fall  in 
love." 

"  Frances,  I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  seriously 
for  the  first,  and  probably  the  last  time  in  my  life. 
When  we  are  young  we  feel  certain  we  are  always 
going  to  have  plain  sailing,  and  age  seems  as  impos- 
sible to  believe  in  as  death.  I  have  no  doubt  you  are 
sure  you  are  going  to  make  the  best  trained  nurse  in 
the  hospital,  that  you'll  have  a  straight  road  to  sue- 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  167 

cess,  with  no  pitfalls.  You  are  certain  that  you  are 
going  to  help  your  father,  and  that  you  two  can 
show  the  world  what  a  man  and  woman  can  do 
when  they  work  together.  Isn't  that  about  it?  " 
"  Yes,  only  I  know  there  will  be  hard  places." 
"  Well,  when  you  have  lived  to  be  my  age  you 
will  find  things  never  turn  out  as  you  expect.  You 
may  catch  all  the  diseases  in  the  hospital,  and  dis- 
cover after  six  months  that  you  don't  want  to  be  a 
trained  nurse,  not  that  that  is  probable,  for  you  are 
made  of  the  right  stuff,  or,  just  as  you  are  through 
the  training-school  your  father  may  die.  Trained- 
nursing,  at  best,  is  a  profession  you  can  only  keep 
on  with  for  a  few  years.  The  founding  of  a  home 
and  the  bringing  up  of  children  is  the  best  profes- 
sion for  women ;  it  is  the  natural  one.  Anything 
else  is  only  best  in  special  cases.  Yours  is  not  a 
special  case.  Do  you  not  feel  Mark  Henderson's 
charm?  It  seems  so  unnatural  that  a  young  girl 
shouldn't.  I  feel  it,  old  as  I  am." 

Frances  hesitated.  "  Yes,  I  feel  it  up  to  a  certain 
point,"  she  owned  at  last.  "  All  that  is  most  frivo- 
lous and  worldly  in  me  is  charmed.  If  it  were 
merely  the  question  of  a  summer  vacation;  if  it 
were  the  custom  for  men  and  women  who  were 
only  friends  to  travel  together  like  brother  and 
sister  for  a  few  months  I  can  think  of  no  one 
who  would  be  a  more  amusing  companion.  But 


i68  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

for  all  my  life !  "  She  shivered.  "  For  better,  for 
worse,  for  richer,  for  poorer!  Miss  Deborah,  how 
do  women  ever  make  up  their  minds  to  do  it? 
Surely  you  could  never  advise  a  girl  to  marry  un- 
less she  were  deeply  in  love,  and  felt  in  addition 
respect  for  the  man  who  wanted  to  marry  her?  " 

"  No,  Frances,  I  couldn't,  but  it  seems  a  great 
pity;  it  would  be  such  a  good  match,  and  he  is  so 
attractive.  I  can't  help  hoping  you  will  change  your 
mind." 

It  was  given  to  Lucy  to  put  the  crowning  touch  to 
the  arguments  in  favor  of  Frances  becoming  en- 
gaged to  Mark  Henderson.  Lucy  and  Frances  had 
taken  a  long  drive  in  search  of  wild-flowers.  Lucy 
could  not  get  her  courage  up  sufficiently  to  broach 
the  subject  until  they  were  half  way  home,  and  even 
then  she  led  up  to  it  by  halting  approaches.  She 
went  over  at  first  much  of  the  ground  Miss  Deborah 
had  traveled,  but  her  point  of  view  was  different. 
She  looked  at  the  question  from  Mark  Henderson's 
side.  "  Dear,"  she  said  at  last,  "  it  isn't  only  what 
is  best  for  you,  but  what  is  best  for  him.  You  don't 
mean  to  be  selfish,  but  by  refusing  him  you  run  the 
risk  of  spoiling  his  life." 

Frances  gave  an  expressive  shrug  of  the  shoul- 
ders. "  It  isn't  as  if  I  were  the  only  woman  he  had 
ever  cared  for." 

"  Mrs.  Lutterworth  says  the  best  in  him  has  been 


A  Neighborhood  Romance          169 

touched  for  the  first  time.  I  knew  of  a  case  once," 
Lucy  added  timidly,  "  where  a  man  was  in  love  with 
a  woman.  He  thought  she  did  not  love  him,  and  he 
— it  ruined  his  life." 

"  Such  cases  must  be  rare,  and  if  a  man  hasn't 
any  more  backbone  than  that  he  isn't  worth  worry- 
ing over." 

"  Frances,  you  have  the  hardness  of  youth.  I  was 
just  as  hard  once.  There  are  not  many  compensa- 
tions for  growing  older,  but  one  is  that  we  are  more 
charitable ;  and  our  standards  change.  The  sins  we 
can't  forgive  when  we  are  young  seem  not  so  much 
greater  than  the  sins  we  never  recognized.  I  am 
wondering,  dear,  if  you  give  Mr.  Henderson  up, 
how  you  will  feel  twenty  years  later.  Life  is  hard 
at  the  best.  Few  of  us  make  a  brilliant  success  of 
it.  Most  of  us  look  back  with  regret  and  forward 
with  dread.  You  will  do  a  little  good  in  the  world, 
good  you  will  hardly  recognize,  because  it  will  be 
so  mixed  with  failure ;  you  will  help  the  sick  to  get 
well,  often  when  they  would  rather  die,  and  you  will 
try  to  comfort  the  sorrowing,  but  for  the  most  part 
you  won't  succeed,  and  after  twenty  years  you  will 
say,  '  What  is  the  use  of  it  all  ?  Of  the  work,  and 
struggle,  and  effort?  If  I  could  only  have  back  my 
lost  youth !  If  I  could  only  be  in  the  sunshine  once 
more  with  Mark  on  that  glorious  June  day  gathering 
honeysuckle ! '  Frances,  dear,  sorrow  comes  to  all ; 


170  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

suffering  comes,  but  it  is  not  to  all  that  happiness 
comes,  with  outstretched  hands ;  and  you  turn  aside 
from  it!  You,  who  have  the  one  chance  other 
wromen  have  dreamed  of  and  longed  for;  you,  in 
your  arrogant  youth,  turn  lightly  away,  as  if  it 
were  a  thing  of  no  value.  If  I  could  have  had  the 
chance  you  have  twenty  years  ago,  I  should  have 
grasped  it  and  led  a  full  life.  As  it  is,  I  can  never 
get  over  the  sense  of  having  missed  the  one  best 
thing." 

"  Dear  Miss  Lucy,"  said  Frances,  as  she  shyly 
pressed  her  friend's  hand. 

Lucy  was  so  sure  she  had  made  an  impression  on 
Frances  that  she  had  an  exalted  feeling  for  the  rest 
of  the  day.  Lucy  was  at  last  beginning  to  see,  she 
told  herself,  that  personal  disappointment  was  of 
little  consequence,  if,  by  means  of  it,  one  could  help 
others.  She  felt  that  Frances  was  taking  the  ground 
she  did  from  a  mistaken  sense  of  loyalty  to  her 
father,  and  that  if  he  could  only  be  made  to  advo- 
cate the  marriage,  his  daughter's  tender  conscience 
would  be  satisfied.  It  was  not  an  easy  thing  to  dis- 
cuss such  a  delicate  matter  with  Dr.  Simonds.  He 
was  a  man  with  whom  Lucy  found  it  difficult  to 
talk  on  any  subject,  but  she  accomplished  the  task 
and  found  him  more  sympathetic  than  she  had  sup- 
posed so  quiet  and  reserved  a  man  could  be.  It 
made  her  happy  to  think  that,  owing  to  her,  two 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  171 

people  would  be  brought  together,  who  otherwise 
would  have  drifted  apart. 

"  Frances,"  said  her  father,  the  evening  after 
Lucy  Wyatt's  call,  "  will  you  come  into  my  office? 
1  want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

"  I  am  glad  I  am  not  a  patient,"  Frances  said,  as" 
she  seated  herself  opposite  her  father,  who  was  in 
his  revolving  chair.  "  I  at  once  feel  as  if  I  had  some 
serious  trouble  of  the  heart  or  brain.  You  seem  to 
be  looking  down  into  the  depths  of  my  soul." 

"  I  wish  I  could  look  into  your  soul,  Frances.  I 
am  afraid  I  am  not  so  observing  of  all  your  symp- 
toms as  I  ought  to  be." 

"  Father,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

He  got  up  and  took  a  turn  around  the  room. 
Then  he  sat  down  again  in  the  revolving-chair. 
"  That  man,  that  Mr.  Henderson,  who  wants  to 
marry  you "  he  began  and  paused. 

"  That  man,  that  Mr.  Henderson,"  she  mimicked. 
"  Well,  what  of  him?  It  is  curious,  isn't  it,  that  he 
has  taken  a  fancy  to  me?  You  didn't  think  any- 
body ever  would,  did  you,  father?  Neither  did  I." 

"  I  wasn't  sure  anyone  would  have  the  sense." 

The  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  ticked  away  a  couple 
of  minutes  before  either  of  them  spoke.  Then  the 
doctor  began  again,  "  Frances,  if  you  like  that  man, 
I  advise  you  to  marry  him." 

"Father!" 


172  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  You  mustn't  consider  me  in  the  least.  When 
we  planned  that  you  were  to  be  a  trained-nurse, 
we  did  not  know  you  would  so  soon  have  the 
chance  to  enter  this  other  profession.  Your  mother 
will  be  delighted  with  the  match,  and  Ned  will  be 
pleased,  he  has  been  so  strongly  opposed  to  your 
going  into  the  hospital.  I  shall  be  glad,  too,  if  it 
means  that  you  will  be  happy." 

Dr.  Simonds  stopped  speaking,  and  again  looked 
into  his  daughter's  grave  eyes.  "  Do  you  love  this 
man  ?  "  he  asked  finally. 

"  No,  father,  not  as  I  could  love.  But  I  can't 
help  feeling  his  charm,  and  his  caring  for  me  so 
much  flatters  me.  If  I  were  to  marry  him  I  am 
afraid  all  that  is  best  in  me  would  be  stifled.  He 
appeals  so  strongly  to  one  side  of  me  that  I  have 
had  moments  of  wondering  if  I  cannot  do  as  he  asks. 
But  when  I  think  of  a  future  with  him,  I  see  myself 
drifting,  wearing  the  pretty  clothes  that  all  women 
like,  doing  nothing,  with  less  and  less  of  a 
struggle,  and  feeling  at  last  as  if  my  life  were  a 
failure,  for  I  know  I  could  not  satisfy  him  long." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure  of  that ;  you  have  satisfied  me 
for  twenty-four  years.  Frances,"  said  the  doctor, 
taking  another  turn  around  the  office,  "  marriage  is 
not  a  light  aijd  casual  thing.  This  being  bound  for 
life,  unless  you  are  bound  to  the  right  person,  is  in- 
tolerable. An  unhappy  marriage,  for  a  woman  of 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  173 

your  temperament  would  mean  a  far  worse  failure 
than  failing  in  your  profession.  But  are  you  sure 
you  cannot  love  him?  If  you  think  you  have  it  in 
your  power  to  do  for  him  all  he  believes  you  can 
do,  why,  go  ahead  with  my  blessing  and " 

"  Mr.  Henderson  to  see  Miss  Frances,"  the  maid 
announced. 

Frances  was  intercepted  by  her  mother.  "  He  is 
out  on  the  side  piazza,"  Mrs.  Simonds  said,  with 
suppressed  excitement.  "  He  has  been  talking  to 
me.  He  has  charming  manners,  so  genial  and  af- 
fable. He  is  so  different  from  your  father,  who  is 
often  indifferent  and  absorbed,  and " 

"  My  father's  manners  are  quite  good  enough  to 
satisfy  me." 

"  There  is  no  need  of  your  flaring  up  like  that ! 
You  are  just  like  him.  To  think  a  daughter  of  mine 
should  be  so  indifferent  to  a  good  offer!  If  you 
could  only  have  been  a  man  and  Ned  a  woman,  he 
would  have  accepted  Mr.  Henderson  at  once.  Mr. 
Henderson  is  such  a  perfect  gentleman  and  so  rich, 
it  is  like  a  fairy  tale  your  having  such  a  chance,  and 
you  could  go  to  Europe.  And  Ned  is  so  ambitious, 
that  having  a  sister  in  a  hospital  seems  like  a  family 
disgrace." 

"  I  have  come  to  say  good-by,"  said  Mark  Hen- 
derson, as  Frances  joined  him  on  the  piazza. 

"  I  am  sorry  it  must  be  good-by." 


174  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  If  you  were  really  sorry,  it  would  not  be  good- 
by.  How  I  wish  I  could  make  you  see  my  point  of 
view !  It  seems  such  a  frightful  waste  for  you  to  do 
this  nursing  which  other  women,  less  sensitively  or- 
ganized, can  do  better,  such  a  frightful  waste,  and  I 
need  you  so.  It  is  the  irony  of  fate  that  the  only 
woman  I  ever  really  cared  for  should  not  care  for 
me." 

"  It  is  because  I  do  not  care  more  that  you  care 
so  much." 

"  Try  me  and  see!  "  he  said  eagerly.  "  Give  me 
the  chance  to  prove  how  much  I  care !  " 

The  languorous  fragrance  of  the  grape  blossoms 
was  mingling  with  the  moonlight;  the  outer  world 
seemed  full  of  poetry  and  romance.  Frances  felt 
that  in  this  dreamy  atmosphere  it  would  not  be  hard 
to  let  herself  drift  and  take  the  advice  of  those  who 
were  older  and  wiser  than  she.  Mark's  voice  and 
the  expression  of  his  dark  eyes  thrilled  her.  Per- 
haps he  felt  that  momentary  hesitation  in  his  favor, 
for  he  instantly  drew  a  picture  of  what  her  life 
would  be  with  him,  and  contrasted  it  with  the 
drudgery  and  discouragement  that  awaited  her  if 
she  became  a  nurse. 

Inside,  the  office  lamp  was  burning,  and  she  could 
hear  the  click  of  the  type-writer.  The  doctor  was 
already  hard  at  work.  A  great  wave  of  sympathy 
for  her  father  swept  over  her.  As  Mark  went  on 


A  Neighborhood  Romance  175 

with  his  rapid  sketch  every  detail  of  hard  work  that 
he  pictured  made  her  realize  the  more  strongly  the 
trials  of  her  father's  life.  She  knew  she  could  never 
have  that  passionate  sense  of  nearness  to  her  lover; 
she  knew  that  she  could  never  be  satisfied  with  any- 
thing short  of  giving  her  best. 

Those  older  people  had  been  born  in  a  different 
period.  They  could  not  judge  for  her. 

"Must  it  be  good-by?"  Mark  asked  wistfully. 

"  It  must  be  good-by,"  she  said. 


A  SUMMER  OUTING 


VIII 
A  SUMMER  OUTING 

JOHN  FORSYTH'S  aunts  would  not  hear  for 
a  moment  of  his  paying  board  for  himself  and 
his  family  the  summer  he  spent  at  their  house. 
"  I  hope  we  shall  never  be  so  reduced  as  not  to 
be  able  to  have  our  relatives  visit  us,"  his  aunt  Le- 
titia  had  said  with  reproachful  dignity.     So  John 
made  them  a  present  of  the  cow,  and  the  next  year 
he  sent  them  a  generous  check  to  be  used  in  taking  a 
summer  outing.     To  Lucy  this  gift  was  another  of 
those  aggravating  freaks  of  destiny  with  which  her 
pathway  through  life  had  been  plentifully  strewn. 
Any  other  summer  she  would  have  been  delighted 
to  have  the  change,  but  now  she  wanted  to  stay  at 
home,  because,  for  the  first  time  in  many  years,  she 
had  made  a  new  friend. 

Josephine  Mason,  a  music-teacher,  and  second 
cousin  to  Dr.  Simonds,  had  come,  with  her  grand 
piano,  to  Mrs.  Homer  Newhall's  boarding-house, 

to  recruit  after  an  illness.     She  was  young  enough 

179 


i8o  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

to  be  the  doctor's  daughter,  but  many  years  older 
than  Frances.  Josephine  was  extremely  fond  of 
her  older  and  younger  relatives,  but  was  always  at 
swords'  points  with  th«  doctor's  wife.  She  begged 
the  Simondses  not  to  ask  anyone  to  call  on  her,  for 
she  wanted  a  quiet  time  to  practice  and  rest.  This 
was  not  at  all  in  accordance  with  Mrs.  Simonds's 
ideas  of  hospitality,  and  to  the  dismay  of  her  hus- 
band and  daughter  she  insisted  upon  inaugurating 
their  cousin's  arrival  by  a  large  tea-party. 

Josephine  had  many  charms,  but  patience  under 
adverse  conditions  was  not  one  of  them. 

"  Cousin  Clara,  I  expressly  said  I  didn't  want  to 
meet  a  soul,"  she  protested.  "  I  hate  knowing  a 
lot  of  people.  I  want  to  work  without  being  both- 
ered." 

"  My  dear,  it  is  much  more  wholesome  for  you  to 
know  people,  and  I  want  something  going  on  for 
Frances's  sake.  She  had  such  a  gay  time  last  month 
when  Mr.  Henderson  was  here,  a  charming  fellow 
with  delightful  manners, — Oh!  I  forgot  that  you 
know  him, — and  he  offered  himself  to  Frances,  who 
did  not  care  for  him,  foolish  child,  because  she  had 
set  her  heart  on  going  into  a  hospital.  Ned  was 
very  indignant,  it  was  such  a  chance  for  her  to  get 
on  in  the  world.  And  I  liked  Mr.  Henderson  so 
much !  It  was  really  very  trying  of  her." 

"  It  would  have  been  more  unselfish  if  she  had 


A  Summer  Outing  181 

married  to  please  you  and  Ned,"  Josephine  re- 
marked drily. 

"  That  is  it  exactly.  You  have  hit  the  nail  on  the 
head,  but  dear  Frances  is  just  like  her  father.  They 
have  their  good  points,  but  they  are  self-centred. 
As  for  the  tea-party,  I  have  only  asked  our  dear 
neighbors,  the  Wyatts.  Lucy  is  a  sweet  girl,  about 
your  age,  whom  you  are  sure  to  like,  and  Laura 
Macauley, — she  is  the  most  fashionable  young  lady 
in  town,  and  she  had  a  dancing-party  last  month, 
so  it  will  be  a  great  relief  to  do  her  up;  and,  let  me 
see !  Bertha  Hall,  she  is  young  and  pretty ;  I  have 
asked  her  on  Ned's  account,  and  I  felt  I  must  invite 
the  Lutterworths,  our  clergyman  and  his  wife,  be- 
cause they  asked  us  to  tea  when  Mr.  Henderson  was 
staying  with  them.  They  are  delightful  people. 
Mrs.  Lutterworth  has  a  rather  sharp  tongue,  but  she 
is  very  amusing,  and  her  husband  is  somewhat 
dreamy  and  has  moods,  but  he  is  clever,  and  you  are 
sure  to  get  on  with  him." 

"  By  all  means  put  me  between  the  clergyman 
who  has  moods  and  Cousin  Andrew,  who  never 
talks  if  he  can  help  it;  it  will  be  so  restful;  we  will 
have  a  quiet  little  corner  by  ourselves,  but  deliver 
me  from  the  sweet  girl  about  my  age,  and  the  fash- 
ionable young  lady,  and  the  woman  with  the  sharp 
tongue." 

"  Now,  Josephine,  I  think  it  is  unkind  of  you  to 


1 82  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

be  satirical  at  the  expense  of  my  guests.  I  expect 
you  to  mix  all  these  people  up  and  make  things 
go." 

When  the  evening  came  Josephine  rose  to  the  oc- 
casion, as  her  cousin  knew  she  would.  To  be  bored 
was  the  one  thing  she  could  not  endure,  and  rather 
than  submit  to  it,  she  exerted  herself  to  such  good 
purpose  that  all  the  company,  with  the  exception  of 
Laura  Macauley,  pronounced  her  charming.  Miss 
Macauley  thought  she  monopolized  the  conversation 
tco  much.  She  did  not  like  brilliant  women,  and  it 
annoyed  her  to  find  that  Miss  Mason,  who  was  at 
least  six  years  older  than  she,  looked  far  younger. 
And  indeed  dark-eyed  Josephine,  in  a  thin  black 
gown,  with  a  single  red  rose  in  her  bodice,  was  such 
a  radiant  vision  that  it  was  no  wonder  Miss  Mac- 
auley found  herself  in  the  shade.  Even  Ned  Si- 
monds,  whom  she  could  usually  count  on  for  as 
much  devotion  as  his  blase  nature  permitted,  went 
over  to  the  standard  of  her  rival.  This  young  man 
had  the  supreme  happiness  of  living  in  Boston 
the  greater  part  of  the  year,  where  he  was  a  rising 
architect,  and  this  good  fortune  made  him  indiffer- 
ent to  the  charms  of  Eppingham  society.  Always 
on  the  alert  for  intellect  and  social  prestige  when 
they  were  definitely  labeled,  he  spent  his  life  trying 
to  get  into  a  charmed  circle,  where  he  was  not  par- 
ticularly wanted,  and  in  unintentionally  wounding 


A  Summer  Outing  183 

the  feelings  of  his  old  friends,  who,  for  some  strange 
reason,  were  always  eager  to  welcome  him.  His 
clothes  bore  the  hall-mark  of  the  latest  fashion,  and 
his  manners  were  subdued  to  aristocratic  calm.  He 
was  often  ashamed  of  his  father's  and  sister's 
brusque  ways,  and  of  their  indifference  to  dress, 
while  his  mother's  never-ceasing  trickle  of  conver- 
sation was  a  continual  irritation  to  him.  To-night, 
however,  under  Josephine's  influence,  he  exerted 
himself  to  a  phenomenal  degree.  He  admired  his 
cousin  more  than  anv  woman  he  knew,  although  her 
unconventional  ways  were  often  a  trial  to  him. 

The  guest  at  the  tea-party  whom  Josephine  liked 
the  best  was  Miss  Letitia  Wyatt.  Miss  Wyatt 
showed  to  excellent  advantage  on  any  social  oc- 
casion. At  home  she  was  often  trying,  but  in 
another  person's  house,  where  she  had  no  sense  of 
responsibility,  she  gave  herself  over  to  frank  en- 
joyment of  the  moment.  She  was  serenely  hand- 
some and  dignified,  talking  just  enough,  and  draw- 
ing out  other  people.  Josephine  felt  that  it  would 
not  be  a  disadvantage  to  have  reached  the  age  of  six- 
ty, if  one  could  carry  the  years  with  such  grace. 
Miss  Deborah  was  unusually  subdued.  Josephine 
liked  her,  however,  and  wanted  to  see  more  of  her ; 
Bertha  Hall  was  the  type  of  young  girl  she  disliked 
most,  and  Josephine  characterized  "  that  sweet  Lucy 
Wyatt "  as  a  "  washed-out  blonde,  with  no  mind  of 


184  John  Korsyth's  Aunts 

her  own."  So  much  for  first  impressions.  They 
were  modified  on  the  occasion  of  her  call  on  the 
Wyatts.  The  two  older  sisters  were  out,  and 
Josephine  gave  an  impatient  sigh  when  she  was  told 
Miss  Lucy  was  at  home,  saying  it  was  just  her 
luck.  Josephine  had  not  been  in  when  Lucy  called 
on  her,  but  they  had  met  twice  at  the  Simondses' 
since  the  tea-party,  and  on  the  last  occasion  Miss 
Mason  had  given  the  company  some  music. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  Lucy  said  shyly, 
looking  very  pale  and  fragile,  as  she  came  forward 
to  meet  her  guest.  "  I  am  sorry  my  sisters  are 
not  at  home." 

Josephine,  in  the  affluence  of  her  renewed  health, 
felt  a  sudden  pity  for  the  "  washed-out  blonde." 

"  You  look  ill,"  she  said.  "  I  am  afraid  the  hot 
weather  is  too  much  for  you,"  and  at  the  end  of 
fifteen  minutes  she  found  herself  asking  Lucy  Wyatt 
to  spend  an  afternoon  with  her  in  the  apple-orchard 
behind  Mrs.  Newhall's  house. 

"  I  want  to  tell  you  how  much  I  like  your  music," 
Lucy-  said,  as  her  guest  rose  to  go.  "  I  hear  so 
little  music  that  I  don't  always  care  for  it.  Some- 
times it  seems  as  if  people  played  to  show  how  well 
they  can  do  it,  mechanically,  but  when  you  were 
playing  I  forgot  all  about  you.  I  only  thought  of 
the  music,  the  wonderful  soul  of  it,  as  it  was  meant 
to  be." 


A  Summer  Outing  185 

"  Do  you  like  music  so  much?  Come  and  listen 
to  my  practising  any  morning  you  like.  Come  at 
eleven;  by  that  time  I  am  through  with  scales  and 
exercises.  Do  you  play  yourself?  " 

"  No.  I  used  to  a  little  long  ago,  but  I  never 
played  well.  Letitia  was  a  much  better  musician, 
but  we  have  both  given  it  up." 

"  Now,  why  did  I  invite  that  girl  to  come  any 
morning  she  liked  to  hear  me  practise?"  Josephine 
asked  herself  as  she  went  down  the  Wyatts'  steps. 
"  She  will  probably  be  turning  up  six  days  in  the 
week,  for  I  don't  believe  she  has  a  blessed  thing  to 
do." 

Lucy,  however,  had  that  rare  tact  which  prevented 
her  taking  undue  advantage  of  any  invitation.  She 
came  once  to  hear  Miss  Mason  play,  and  she  spent 
one  afternoon  with  her  in  the  apple-orchard,  then 
she  waited  in  a  dignified  manner  until  her  new  ac- 
quaintance should  accept  some  hospitality  from  her. 
This  Miss  Mason  was  not  eager  to  do,  so  they  came 
to  a  dead-lock,  and  for  a  week  they  did  not  meet. 
The  time  passed  serenely  for  Josephine,  but  Lucy 
was  already  in  that  fever  of  excitement  that  is  the 
beginning  of  a  great  love,  for,  with  all  the  sup- 
pressed passion  of  a  thwarted  nature,  she  had  given 
her  heart  without  a  shadow  of  reserve  to  this  beauti- 
ful, fascinating  woman.  There  was  no  reason  now, 
as  there  had  been  when  she  was  young,  she  told  her- 


1 86  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

self,  for  crushing  out  the  feeling  by  calling  pride 
to  her  aid.  Nothing  but  happiness  could  come  from 
loving  another  woman.  She  asked  little  in  return, 
only  to  be  allowed  to  sit  humbly  at  her  friend's 
feet,  to  look  into  her  ardent  eyes  and  to  hear  her 
talk  about  her  brilliant  future. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  Lucy,  tired  and  pale,  met 
Josephine,  strong  and  rosy,  in  the  post-office. 
Lucy's  heart  began  to  beat  so  fast  that  she  caught 
her  breath.  With  a  sudden  access  of  shyness  she 
hid  herself  behind  a  group  of  men.  When  she 
found  that  Miss  Mason  was  actually  going  out  of 
the  door  without  seeing  her,  she  stepped  forward 
timidly. 

"  My  dear  Miss  Wyatt,  what  have  you  been  doing 
with  yourself  the  last  three  or  four  days?"  Jo- 
sephine asked. 

Lucy  had  a  little  pang  when  she  found  that  the 
long  week  seemed  so  short  to  her  friend. 

"  I  have  been  meaning  to  come  and  look  you 
up,"  Miss  Mason  went  on,  "  but  my  cousins  have 
taken  a  great  deal  of  my  time.  When  can  you  come 
for  another  afternoon  in  the  hammock  ?  Til  promise 
not  to  talk  about  myself  so  much.  I'll  read  aloud 
to  you.  My  cousin  Ned  says  I  read  aloud  well,  and 
if  he  says  so  I  feel  competent  to  give  public  read- 
ings at  once.  How  do  you  do,  Mrs.  Lutterworth? 


A  Summer  Outing  187 

Don't  go,  Miss  Wyatt.  I'll  walk  back  with  you, 
if  you  will  wait  a  minute." 

They  went  down  the  village  street  together  be- 
tween the  rows  of  drooping  elms,  these  two  women, 
so  nearly  of  an  age,  for  whom  life  had  been  so 
different.  It  was  a  sultry  morning,  but  Lucy  forgot 
the  heat,  she  had  felt  almost  too  languid  to  go  to 
the  post-office,  but  now  there  was  a  new  light  in 
her  eyes  and  fresh  strength  in  her  tired  body.  The 
world  had  been  made  over  for  her. 

In  the  next  few  weeks  the  misery  caused  by 
Josephine's  frequent  indifference  was  tempered  for 
Lucy  by  the  radiant  joy  that  followed  her  occasional 
kindness. 

When  John's  gift  came,  making  a  summer  out- 
ing possible,  the  pain  Lucy  felt  was  almost  more 
than  she  could  bear. 

"  We  will  go  to  the  sea-shore,"  Miss  Deborah 
said.  She  and  Lucy  had  often  planned  taking  a  trip 
of  this  kind  together. 

"  The  sea  air  is  always  bad  for  me,"  said  Miss 
Letitia.  "  I  am  apt  to  feel  depressed  by  the  sea, 
and  I  don't  like  the  dampness.  I  am  sure  you  and 
Lucy  will  enjoy  the  mountains,  and  we  had  much 
better  decide  to  go  there." 

Long  experience  had  taught  the  younger  sisters 
that  it  was  better  to  yield  to  Letitia  in  a  matter  of 


1 88  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

this  kind,  for  she  was  not  easy  to  live  with  when 
they  went  to  a  place  she  had  not  chosen. 

"  I  don't  know  what  on  earth  we  can  do  with  Mr. 
Gray  if  Bridget  goes  home,"  said  Miss  Deborah, 
"  and  I  don't  wonder  she  objects  to  staying  in  the 
house  without  one  of  us." 

"  I  have  provided  for  Mr.  Gray,"  Miss  Letitia 
announced  complacently,  "  Laura  Macauley's  ser- 
vants are  to  stay  in  her  house  while  she  is  in  New- 
port; they  can  just  as  well  take  care  of  an  extra  cat, 
and  Mr.  Gray  will  be  glad  to  visit  his  old  home." 

"  You  are  planning-  to  leave  Mr.  Gray  with  the 
Macauleys'  servants!  Letitia  Wyatt!  I  knew  you 
were  somewhat  hard-hearted  about  cats,  but  I  did 
not  think  you  would  go  to  such  lengths !  I  have  no 
respect  for  Laura  Macauley.  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  own  such  a  thin  cat.  Laura  said  to  me  the  other 
day  when  I  was  feeding  my  precious  Mr.  Gray,  '  Do 
you  give  your  cat  meat?  ' — she  didn't  even  call  him 
by  his  name. — '  Ours  lives  on  mice,' — as  if  any  re- 
spectable cat  would  be  contented  to  live  like  the 
Chinese!  Mice  are  all  very  well  for  an  extra,  but 
you  can  see  for  yourself,  by  looking  at  the  Macau- 
leys'  cat,  that  mice  alone  are  not  satisfying.  If  that 
Hannah  had  the  charge  of  him,  Mr.  Gray  would 
waste  away  to  a  shadow.  Rather  than  have  that 
happen  I  will  give  up  the  trip  and  stay  at  home  to 
keep  house  for  him." 


A  Summer  Outing  189 

"  Deborah  Wyatt !  You  are  a  perfect  fool  about 
that  cat." 

"  I  will  stay  at  home,"  said  Lucy. 

"  You  ?  You  are  always  afraid  of  your  own 
shadow." 

"  Bridget  would  stay  with  me.  I  should  not 
mind." 

"  My  dear,  there  is  such  a  thing  as  being  too 
unselfish.  You  have  always  longed  to  go  away  for 
the  summer." 

"  It  isn't  unselfishness.  I  should  really  like  the 
quiet  of  it,  and — I  should  have  Miss  Mason." 

"  Miss  Mason  is  a  charming  girl,  but  she  couldn't 
do  your  health  so  much  good  as  a  trip  to  the  moun- 
tains," said  Miss  Letitia. 

The  growing  intimacy  between  Miss  Mason  and 
Lucy  made  her  vaguely  uneasy.  She  did  not  be- 
lieve in  these  sudden  friendships  compounded  of 
ardent  love  on  one  side  and  cool  acceptance  on  the 
other. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  mountains  with  Letitia  and 
Deborah,"  Lucy  told  her  friend  the  next  time  they 
met,  "  and  I  would  much  rather  stay  at  home." 

"  Then  why  don't  you  stay?  "  asked  Josephine. 

Lucy  was  lying  in  a  hammock  under  the  apple 
trees  loaded  with  their  freight  of  pale-green  embryo 
apples.  She  looked  up  at  the  blue  sky  and  floating 
white  clouds.  A  robin  flew  across  the  orchard  and 


John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


perched  on  a  branch  above  her  head.  She  had  often 
longed  for  a  bird's  freedom  to  go  where  it  pleased  ; 
now,  she  envied  the  apple  tree  the  power  to  stay 
behind. 

"  I  must  go  because  my  sisters  think  it  is  best." 
"  But,  my  dear,  you  are  not  a  child." 
"  They  say  the  change  of  air  will  do  me  good." 
"  I   am  better  for  you   than   the  whole  White 
Mountain  range." 
"  I  know  it." 

"  If  your  sisters  are  not  willing  to  have  you  stay 
in  the  house  alone  tell  them  you  will  take  your  part 
of  your  nephew's  present  and  spend  the  summer 
with  me  at  Mrs.  Newhall's." 

This  audacious  proposal  brought  the  color  to 
Lucy's  cheeks.  Such  happiness  would  be  so  revolu- 
tionary as  to  be  intoxicating. 

"  They  would  never  hear  of  it,"  she  said  quietly, 
the  light  dying  out  of  her  face,  "  and  it  would  be 
too  selfish.  Deborah  finds  it  a  little  wearing  to  be 
with  Letitia  without  me;  no  one  could  be  more 
anxious  to  make  us  happy  than  Letitia  is,  but  she 
does  not  like  everyone,  and  she  has  been  used  to 
a  great  deal  of  devotion,  and  Deborah,  who  is  the 
dearest  woman  in  the  world,  is  a  little  quick-tem- 
pered; Letitia  would  find  it  hard  to  be  with  her 
without  me." 

"  In  short,  you  are  a  kind  of  pillow  interposed  so 


A  Summer  Outing  191 

their  angles  won't  rub  each  other.  It  must  be  wear- 
ing to  be  a  pillow  year  in  and  year  out." 

Josephine  was  relieved  to  find  that  her  new  friend 
was  not  going  to  accept  her  impulsive  invitation. 
She  was  sorry  for  her,  and  she  was  growing  fond 
of  her,  but  what  she  would  do  if  she  were  to  have 
her  society  morning,  noon  and  night  she  could 
hardly  imagine. 

The  difficulty  concerning  Mr.  Gray  was  solved  by 
means  of  an  indulgent  hotel-keeper  and  a  stout  bag. 
Miss  Deborah  carried  the  bag  that  ended  in  a  fluffy 
gray  head.  Miss  Letitia's  dignity  was  severely  tried 
on  the  occasion  of  her  being  a  member  of  such  a 
conspicuous  company.  She  had  never  believed  in 
taking  Mr.  Gray  to  the  mountains;  but  although 
she  let  Deborah  and  Lucy  share  the  seat  with  him 
she  did  not  sit  at  the  other  end  of  the  car  as  the 
natural  woman  prompted  her  to  do;  but  bravely 
took  the  seat  behind  her  sisters,  ready  to  share 
whatever  obloquy  attended  them.  They  had  an 
uneasy  suspicion  that  the  transporting  of  animals 
in  passenger-cars  was  forbidden.  Miss  Deborah 
had  decided  what  she  should  do  if  the  conductor 
objected  to  Mr.  Gray's  presence.  She  intended 
gravely  to  introduce  her  favorite  and  ask  if  he  were 
young  enough  to  go  for  half-fare.  She  hoped  the 
conductor  would  have  a  sense  of  humor.  He 
proved  an  unresponsive  being  who  did  not  notice 


IQ2  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Mr.  Gray.  Although  this  was  convenient  Miss  Deb- 
orah was  disappointed.  She  had  hoped  for  a  dra- 
matic scene. 

The  chief  advantage  of  the  mountain  place  Miss 
Letitia  had  chosen  was  its  view  of  the  presidential 
range.  The  mountains  were  some  miles  away, — 
Miss  Letitia  never  liked  to  be  too  shut  in,  for  that 
meant  dampness  which  might  end  in  grippe.  There 
was  a  slight  drawback  to  the  place  which  the  sisters 
discovered  on  the  night  of  their  arrival,  and  this  was 
that  the  presidential  range  had  its  off  days.  On  the 
foggy  July  evening  when  they  descended  from  the 
Chatfield  Inn  coach,  the  famous  mountain  range  had 
vanished  utterly — Chatfield  Centre  might  have  been 
Eppingham,  save  that  its  river  was  muddy  instead 
of  clear  and  that  in  the  foreground  some  ugly  cot- 
tages and  a  hideous  saw-mill  stood  out  effectively. 
These  unsightly  objects  were  near  enough  to  be 
always  present.  Miss  Letitia  had  chosen  to  be  in 
one  of  the  cottages  of  the  hotel ;  this  meant  ten  dol- 
lars a  week  instead  of  twelve,  and  greater  quiet, 
but  when  they  inspected  their  quarters  they  discov- 
ered that  the  cottages  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  hill 
and  the  hotel  part  way  up.  The  two  were  con- 
nected by  an  inclined  plane  with  cleats,  reminding 
Miss  Deborah  of  a  hen-ladder.  Their  rooms  were 
on  the  lower  floor  of  the  cottage.  The  season  had 
been  a  wet  one,  and  it  seemed  as  if  they  could  see 


A  Summer  Outing  193 

and  taste  the  dampness  as  well  as  feel  it.  Miss 
Deborah  longed  to  remark  that  the  spot  her 
sister  had  chosen  was  far  dryer  than  the  sea- 
shore, but  she  refrained,  for  Letitia  had  been 
so  forbearing  about  the  cat.  Lucy  began  to  un- 
pack her  trunk  and  tried  to  keep  the  tears  from 
her  eyes.  Miss  Deborah  was  absorbed  by  Mr.  Gray, 
who,  less  reticent  than  the  others,  expressed  his 
feelings  in  a  series  of  frank  mews.  Miss  Letitia, 
being  indirectly  responsible  for  their  discomfort, 
tried  to  make  the  best  of  things,  but  she  was  more 
than  reconciled  when  her  sister  Deborah  told  the 
landlord  that  they  could  not  stay  unless  he  gave 
them  better  rooms.  Finally  the  sisters  transferred 
their  belongings  to  the  upper  story  of  the  cottage, 
where  open  fires  kept  the  dampness  at  bay.  Here 
they  awaited,  with  what  philosophy  they  could  as- 
sume, the  return  of  the  presidential  range.  The 
other  people  in  the  hotel  were  second  rate.  Miss 
Letitia  said  in  her  dignified  way  that  she  could  never 
bear  second-rate  people.  Miss  Deborah  was  so  run- 
ning over  with  kindness  and  sociability  that  she 
brought  down  this  remark  upon  herself  by  making 
advances  to  a  family  who  did  not  speak  correct  Eng- 
lish. This  family  with  one  accord  took  a  great 
fancy  to  the  spirited  middle-aged  lady,  and  invited 
her  to  join  them  on  a  walk,  in  a  pause  between  two 
showers.  In  due  time  Miss  Deborah  introduced  her 
13 


IQ4  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

sisters  to  the  Carfields,  and  Letitia  and  Lucy  were 
included  in  the  second  walk.  Miss  Letitia  was  the 
companion  of  Mrs.  Carfield,  who  took  the  initiative 
in  conversation  by  remarking,  "  Ain't  this  a  lovely 
place?  " 

"  I  should  think  it  might  be  when  you  can  see  the 
view,"  returned  Miss  Letitia. 

"  The  view  is  elegant,"  said  Mrs.  Carfield. 

After  this  conversation  languished,  and  it  was 
upon  her  return  that  Miss  Letitia  confided  her  views 
to  her  sisters  concerning  second-rate  people. 

They  had  spent  a  rainy  ten  days  at  Chatfield 
Centre  when  one  evening  a  letter  in  Laura  Macau- 
ley's  pointed  handwriting  was  brought  to  Miss 
Letitia. 

"  My  dears,"  she  cried  breathlessly,  "  a  great 
chance  has  come  to  me.  That  dear  Laura  Ma- 
cauley  has  invited  me  to  spend  the  rest  of  the 
summer  with  her  at  Newport.  She  is  at  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  hotels.  The  only  difficulty  is  about 
clothes.  It  will  not  cost  me  anything  otherwise,  as 
I  am  to  take  the  place  of  her  aunt,  who  has  had  to 
go  home  on  account  of  an  attack  of  appendicitis. 
She  has  to  have  an  operation,  poor  thing ;  I  am  sorry 
for  her,  but  it  is  providential  for  me — Laura  can- 
not stay  in  that  great  hotel  without  a  chaperone.  I 
feel  selfish  to  go,  but  you  wouldn't  enjoy  Newport, 
Deborah,  and  Lucy  is  too  young  for  a  chaperone." 


A  Summer  Outing  .195 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  like  sea  air,"  Miss  De- 
borah was  unchristian  enough  to  remark. 

"  Nothing  could  be  damper  than  this  place.  I 
have  not  liked  to  complain,  as  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  anything  that  could  be  done  about  it,  but  my 
throat  has  been  irritated  for  the  last  day  or  two. 
The  north  shore  does  not  agree  with  me,  but  New- 
port is  so  far  south  the  climate  will  be  mild.  I  have 
always  wanted  to  go  there,  and  Laura  knows  a  de- 
lightful set  of  people,  so  that  socially  it  will  be  a 
great  advantage  to  me." 

It  ended  in  Miss  Letitia's  chaperoning  Laura 
Macauley  at  Newport.  Miss  Deborah  and  Lucy 
longed  to  go  home,  but  they  had  all  three  engaged 
their  rooms  for  a  month  and  the  landlord  did  not 
feel  that  he  could  let  them  off,  his  house  being  only 
half-filled.  Miss  Letitia  was  so  majestic  and  over- 
awing, and  she  laid  so  much  stress  on  the  dampness 
at  Chatfield  Centre,  and  her  delicate  health,  that  the 
landlord  unwillingly  allowed  her  to  give  up  her 
room  and  pay  nothing,  and  so  the  others  felt  all 
the  more  bound  to  stay. 

"  It  is  a  little  trying  that  we,  who  wanted  to  go 
to  the  sea-shore,  should  have  to  stay  in  this  place 
and  Letitia,  who  chose  the  mountains,  should  be  the 
one  to  go  to  the  sea-shore,"  Miss  Deborah  observed 
to  Lucy,  as  they  walked  back  from  the  station  after 
having  bidden  their  sister  good-by.  "  However, 


196  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

we'll  manage  to  have  a  great  deal  of  fun  now  the 
sun  has  come  out;  still  it  is  just  a  trifle  aggravat- 
ing." 

"  Most  things  in  life  are  aggravating,"  said  Lucy. 


MISS  DEBORAH'S  GARDEN 


IX 
MISS  DEBORAH'S  GARDEN 

THE  evening  before  the  Wyatts'  departure  for 
the  mountains  Mrs.  Lutterworth  had  come 
in  to  bid  them  good-by. 

Miss  Deborah  was  in  a  despondent  mood,  a  rare 
thing  for  her. 

"  I  wish  to  goodness  John  had  never  sent  us  the 
wherewithal  for  a  summer  vacation,"  she  observed. 
"  When  you  have  money  given  you  for  a  certain 
purpose,  if  you  have  a  New  England  conscience  you 
feel  bound  to  spend  it  in  just  that  way,  but  I  am 
homesick  already  when  I  think  of  having  to 
leave " 

"  Me,  and  the  rest  of  your  friends?  "  Mrs.  Lutter- 
worth inquired. 

"  No,  the  garden.  I  can't  help  thinking  of  all  the 
caterpillars  and  cut-worms  and  beetles  that  will  have 
a  feast.  Patrick  is  so  careless." 

"  Miss  Deborah,  I  believe  you  love  the  garden 
better  than  anything  in  the  world  but  your  sisters 

and  the  cat." 

199 


200  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  '  The  cat  and  your  sisters/  you  should  have 
said,"  interpolated  Miss  Letitia. 

"  It  isn't  very  flattering,"  Mrs.  Lutterworth  went 
on  in  her  vivacious  way.  "  You  can't  bear  to  leave 
the  garden,  and  you  love  the  cat  so  well  you  take 
him  with  you,  but  you  can  say  good-by  to  me  with- 
out a  pang." 

"  Sarah  Lutterworth,  I  have  such  perfect  confi- 
dence in  your  power  to  look  after  yourself  and 
others  that  I  can  leave  you  with  an  easy  mind, 
whereas  Mr.  Gray,  poor  dear  creature,  would  be 
lost  without  me,  and  so  I  very  much  fear  will  the 
garden." 

Miss  Deborah's  fears  proved  true  prophets. 
When  she  and  Lucy  came  home  from  the  mountains 
a  week  earlier  than  they  first  planned,  a  period  of 
drought,  joined  to  Patrick's  conscience,  that  was  not 
of  New  England  origin,  had  turned  their  once 
blooming  garden  into  an  insects'  paradise. 

Miss  Deborah  went  from  one  patch  of  flowers  to 
another,  mourning  their  fate  in  an  ever-increasing 
crescendo  of  despair. 

"  Lucy,  the  sweet  peas  are  blighted,"  she  an- 
nounced. "  The  dry  weather  has  been  too  much  for 
them.  I  wish  we  could  have  imported  some  of  our 
mountain  rains.  Look  at  the  dahlias,  Lucy !  They 
are  drying  up!  The  garden  hasn't  been  watered 
properly.  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  Look  at  those 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  201 

blister-beetles !  Heavens !  What  a  looking-  garden ! 
And  the  corn !  Cut-worms  have  been  at  work  there ! 
Patrick  O'Halloran,  what  were  you  thinking  of?  " 

"  Shure,  ma'am,  I  didn't  create  the  cut-worms," 
he  said  sulkily. 

"  I  am  aware  of  that.  I  never  accused  you  of 
having  ingenuity  enough  to  create  anything.  Why 
under  the  sun  didn't  you  water  things  properly?" 

"  Shure,  ma'am,  I  was  watering  and  watering, 
until  I  nearly  got  a  sun-stroke,  and  then  the  hose 
busted." 

"Well,  if.it  hadn't  been  for  Clara  Simonds  and 
Frances,  we  shouldn't  have  anything  left,"  said 
Miss  Deborah.  "  I  am  very  glad  they  made  you 
buy  a  new  hose.  There  is  one  comfort,  their  garden 
is  in  almost  as  bad  a  condition.  What  am  I  say- 
ing? I  oughtn't  to  take  comfort  in  a  thing  like 
that.  I  am  glad  Letitia  is  away.  The  state  of  the 
garden  would  annoy  her  exceedingly." 

Deborah  and  Lucy  missed  their  sister,  but  there 
was  a  kind  of  freedom  that  came  with  her  absence 
which  was  almost  intoxicating.  They  took  their  tezt 
in  the  woods  two  or  three  times  a  week,  and  on 
pleasant  mornings  had  their  breakfast  served  on  the 
piazza ;  they  ate  baked-beans  and  brown  bread  as 
often  as  they  liked,  and  on  one  never-to-be-for- 
gotten occasion  went  so  far  as  to  indulge  in  a 
roast  of  pork.  They  even  lost  their  heads  to  such 


202  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

an  extent  as  to  invite  old  Peter  Newhall  to  spend  a 
day  with  them.  All  these  things  occurred,  how- 
ever, after  Miss  Deborah's  great  coup  d'etat  con- 
cerning the  garden. 

"  I  am  sure  the  flowers  would  do  better  if  we  could 
import  a  few  toads  to  eat  up  the  insects,"  she  said 
to  Lucy,  the  morning  after  their  return. 

"  How  are  you  going  to  get  your  toads?  "  Lucy 
asked  languidly. 

"  Lucy  Wyatt !  You  are  the  most  unenterprising 
person!  You  are  not  lazy;  you'd  water  and  weed, 
and  water  and  weed  until  your  back  broke,  but  it 
would  never  occur  to  you  to  improve  matters.  Lis- 
ten to  this  extract  from  the  Fanner's  Voice. 

" '  Centipedes,  caterpillars,  blister-beetles  and 
bugs  of  every  description  are  equally  welcomed  by 
the  toad.  .  .  .  Half  a  dozen  toads  in  a  garden  will 
keep  it  free  from  the  ordinary  garden  pests.  They 
are  easily  tamed,  and  spend  the  day  in  some  shaded 
nook  along  the  fence  or  under  a  cabbage-leaf,  com- 
ing sedately  forth  at  night  to  find  their  food.'  There 
are  toads  enough  in  town.  I  shall  offer  to  pay 
Patrick  five  cents  for  every  toad  he  brings  me." 

Patrick  proved  to  be  no  more  enterprising  than 
Lucy,  and  Miss  Deborah  was  obliged  to  take  more 
stringent  measures. 

Lucy  found  her  one  morning  busily  writing.  "  I 
wish  Letitia  were  here  to  put  this  advertisement  in 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  203 

proper  shape,"  she  said.  "  Letitia  is  so  clever  with 
her  pen.  But  I  can't  wait  to  send  this  to  Newport, 
and  I  suppose  she  would  think  my  scheme  was  crazy. 
I  have  decided  to  advertise  in  the  County  News  for 
toads.  There  are  plenty  of  toads  in  Eppingham  and 
plenty  of  children.  The  only  thing  is  to  devise  a 
scheme  to  bring  them  together.  How  does  this 
read? 

"  '  WANTED  TOADS !  ! '  That  will  attract  the 
eye  of  the  most  hardened  reader. 

"  '  Children  here  is  your  chance.  Five  cents  re- 
ward for  every  toad  brought  to  number  52  Main 
Street,  Eppingham.  No  frogs  need  apply/  " 

"  I  think  it  would  be  a  little  more  dignified  to 
leave  that  out  about  the  children,  and  say  five  cents 
will  be  given  for  every  toad  brought  to  number  52 
Main  Street,  Eppingham,  frogs  not  desired,"  said 
Lucy  with  hesitation. 

"  It  would  take  all  the  spice  out  of  the  advertise- 
ment to  alter  it ;  it  can't  be  very  dignified,  no  matter 
how  you  word  it,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  with  a  little 
laugh.  "  I  am  glad  Letitia  is  not  at  home.  She 
would  find  it  such  a — departure.  I  have  always 
said  I  wanted  my  fling,  and  now  I  am  having 
it." 

"  Aren't  you  afraid  of  getting  too  many  toads,  if 
you  advertise  in  a  paper?  "  Lucy  asked  timidly. 

"  Too  many !     My  dear  Lucy,  Patrick  has  been 


204  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

hunting  the  town  the  last  two  days  and  hasn't  found 
one.  I  am  afraid  I  shan't  get  enough.  I  don't  ex- 
pect more  than  ten  or  twelve  at  the  outside." 

Lucy  went  down  to  the  office  of  the  County  News 
with  her  sister,  who  requested  the  editor  to  put  the 
advertisement  in  two  issues  of  his  semi-weekly 
paper.  This  was  a  little  expensive,  but  Miss  Deb- 
orah was  sure  it  was  better  to  give  her  experiment 
a  fair  trial.  The  paper  was  issued  on  Saturday 
morning,  and  the  day  passed  with  no  results.  Early 
Sunday  morning,  just  as  the  sisters  were  finishing 
their  baked  beans,  the  doorbell  rang,  and  Bridget 
came  in  with  a  broad  smile  on  her  face. 

"  Please,  ma'am,  a  boy  and  girl  want  to  see  you, 
and  they've  got  something  in  a  basket." 

"  Toads !  "  ejaculated  Miss  Deborah,  and  she  rose 
hastily. 

"  We  saw  an  advertisement  as  said  you  wanted 
toads,"  the  little  girl  explained  shyly. 

Miss  Deborah  opened  the  cover  of  the  basket. 
"  They  are  frogs,"  she  cried.  "  I  especially  said 
I  did  not  want  frogs.  If  you  can't  tell  a  frog  from 
a  toad,  you  had  better  go  to  vacation  school.  I  am 
not  going  to  give  you  a  blessed  cent,  not  one,  and 
you  can  take  these  frogs  back  to  the  bog  where  you 
got  them." 

A  pitiful  expression  came  into  the  faces  of  the 
children.  They  turned  away  sadly  and  silently. 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  205 

Their  torn  clothes  and  general  air  of  dejection  went 
straight  to  Miss  Deborah's  kind  heart. 

"  Do  you  like  baked  beans  ?  "  she  inquired  in  a 
conciliatory  tone. 

"  You  bet !  "  said  the  boy. 

She  ushered  them  into  the  dining-room,  where 
Lucy  was  finishing  her  coffee. 

"  You  didn't  have  much  breakfast,  I  imagine,"  she 
hazarded,  as  they  hungrily  despatched  the  baked- 
beans  and  brown-bread. 

"  No,  ma'am.  We  had  to  be  up  very  early,  we 
wanted  to  get  ahead  of  the  Baxter  boys." 

"Are  they  looking  for  toads?" 

"  Yes'm.  There's  four  Baxter  boys,  and  we  was 
afraid  mebbe  you'd  have  all  the  toads  you  wanted 
before  we  come  along,  so  we  got  up  at  four 
o'clock." 

When  Miss  Deborah  bade  them  good-bye  she  had 
relented  so  far  as  to  say,  "  You  can  take  the  frogs 
back,  but  I'll  give  you  ten  cents  each  on  account  of 
your  trouble." 

Miss  Deborah  and  Lucy  were  just  starting  for 
church  and  were  walking  sedately  down  Main 
Street,  in  their  gently  rustling  summer  silks,  holding 
their  pongee  parasols  to  shield  them  from  the  torrid 
rays  of  the  sun,  when  they  met  a  straggling  proces- 
sion of  four  unkempt  children.  Two  of  them  car- 
ried large  tin  pails. 


206  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  The  Baxter  boys !  "  was  Miss  Deborah's  pro- 
phetic cry. 

"  Can  you  tell  me,  please,  the  house  the  toad  lady 
lives  in?  "  asked  the  oldest  boy. 

"  I  am  the  toad  lady,"  replied  Miss  Deborah,  as- 
suming as  much  dignity  as  was  possible.  "  I  live 
in  that  white  house  with  the  lilac  bushes  in  the  front 
yard.  Goodness,  Lucy,  what  shall  I  do?  We  are 
late  for  church  already.  I  shall  be  very  late  if  I 
go  back  now,  but  I  can't  miss  a  chance  like  this,  or 
disappoint  these  children.  I  hope  you  have  brought 
me  toads  and  not  frogs." 

"  They  are  toads  all  right,"  said  the  oldest  boy 
lifting  the  cover  of  his  pail,  and  allowing  Miss  Deb- 
orah to  look  inside,  where  she  saw  a  merry  company 
of  six  bright-eyed  toads.  "  There's  eight  in  Jim's 
box,"  he  announced. 

Miss  Deborah  made  a  rapid  calculation.  "  Five 
times  fourteen  are  seventy  cents,"  she  said,  "  and 
Bridget  hasn't  got  home  from  early  mass — she  must 
have  stopped  at  her  brother's;  there  is  nothing  for 
it  but  to  go  back.  Lucy,  go  on  to  church,  and  if  I 
don't  get  there,  for  heaven's  sake  don't  tell  Mrs. 
Lutterworth  the  reason  why.  Lie,  Lucy,  lie  like  a 
— a  Filipino,  say  I  am  ill,  that  I  mind  the  heat ;  say 
anything  but  the  truth.  If  Sarah  Lutterworth 
should  get  hold  of  this  I  should  never  hear  the  last 
of  it." 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  207 

"Shan't  I  go  back  too?"  suggested  Lucy. 
"  Then  nobody  can  ask  any  questions." 

"  My  dear,  everyone  would  think  we  were  at 
death's  door  if  one  of  us  wasn't  at  church.  We 
should  have  the  whole  town  coming  to  inquire." 

Lucy  proceeded  down  the  quiet  elm-shaded  vil- 
lage street  to  the  accompaniment  of  church  bells. 
She  was  a  little  late,  and  slipped  into  her  seat  half- 
way up  the  broad  aisle  as  unobtrusively  as  she  could, 
but  she  was  conscious  of  innumerable  eyes  fixed 
upon  her.  She  knew  everyone  was  wondering  why 
Deborah  was  not  there,  Deborah,  who  never  missed 
a  Sunday  at  church. 

After  the  service  was  over  Lucy  tried  to  slip  out 
without  speaking  to  anyone,  but  Mrs.  Lutterworth 
hastened  down  the  aisle  and  caught  up  with  her  be- 
fore she  reached  the  church  door. 

"  I  hope  Miss  Deborah  isn't  ill?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,"  said  Lucy,  "  she  feels  the  heat  a  little." 

"  I  am  so  sorry !  I  never  knew  Miss  Deborah  to 
give  up  church  for  weather." 

"  She  wouldn't  have  stayed  at  home  merely  for 
that,  but — the  fact  is  she  was  detained  by  callers 
who  came  just  as  we  were  leaving  home,"  said  Lucy, 
thinking  it  just  as  well  to  say  something  approxi- 
mate to  the  truth.  She  was  sure  the  person  who  in- 
vented lying  did  not  live  in  a  country  town,  for  it 
is  so  futile  under  these  circumstances  to  tell  any- 


208  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

thing  but  the  blunt,  unvarnished  truth.  Before  the 
day  was  over  all  the  aristocracy  of  Eppingham  knew 
who  Deborah  Wyatt's  callers  were.  Mrs.  Simonds, 
from  her  window,  saw  her  greet  the  procession  of 
boys  and  turn  back  with  them,  and  had  a  discussion 
with  her  maid  as  to  whether  the  pails  contained 
toads  or  berries.  They  finally  came  to  the  conclu- 
sion that  Miss  Deborah  would  not  have  given  up 
church  for  anything  less  unusual  than  toads.  Di- 
rectly after  dinner  Mrs.  Simonds  telephoned  the 
news  to  Mrs.  Lutterworth. 

"  I  fancy^  Deborah  Wyatt  will  have  all  the  toads 
she  wants  for  one  while,  before  she  gets  through," 
she  said. 

And  indeed  before  Monday  was  over  Miss  Deb- 
orah had  already  regretted  that  her  advertisement 
was  destined  to  appear  in  two  issues  of  the 
paper. 

"  This  makes  eight  children  who  have  been  here 
already,"  she  said,  as  she  bought  a  modest  quartette 
of  toads,  Monday  morning.  "  Lucy,  I  shall  have  to 
trouble  you  to  see  the  editor  when  you  are  down 
town,  and  tell  him  to  stop  the  advertisement.  If 
he'll  give  me  my  money  back  for  the  time  it  isn't  put 
in  the  paper,  so  much  the  better,  but  I  would  rather 
pay  for  something  I  don't  have  than  be  inundated 
with  toads.  If  it  goes  on  much  longer  I  shall  be 
ruined." 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  209 

"  I  don't  believe  you  will  have  any  more  toads 
brought  you,"  said  Lucy  soothingly. 

"  You  don't  know  anything  about  it,"  and  this 
proved  to  be  true. 

When  Lucy  came  back  Miss  Deborah  met  her 
with  a  tragic  gesture.  "  You  needn't  tell  me  that  I 
sha'n't  have  any  more  toads  brought  me.  This  thing 
is  as  bad  as  one  of  those  endless  chains.  Every  child 
tells  ten  other  children  that  I  will  pay  five  cents  a 
toad.  The  Baxter  boys  have  been  here  again  with 
ten  more  toads,  ten, — Lucy,  do  you  hear  ?  And  some 
friends  of  theirs  came  with  six.  I  wish  John  were 
here  to  swear  for  me.  I  am  ready  to  consign  those 
toads  to  eternal  perdition.  Lucy,  you  needn't  laugh 
in  that  heartless  way.  Not  another  toad  will  I  pay 
for ;  I've  told  them  not  to  come  again,  and  to  tell  all 
their  friends  that  the  market  is  overstocked." 

In  spite  of  this  warning,  the  door  bell  rang  again 
late  in  the  afternoon,  and  Bridget  came  up  with  her 
face  wreathed  in  those  maddening  smiles. 

"  Well,  who  is  it?  "  asked  Miss  Deborah  shortly. 

"  They  didn't  give  their  names,  ma'am,  but  there's 
two  of  'em,  little  girls,  this  time,  and  they've  got  a 
basket." 

"  Confound  it!  "  Miss  Deborah  spoke  with  delib- 
eration and  a  certain  relish.  "  It  is  a  little  late  in 
life  to  begin  to  swear,"  she  said  to  Lucy.  "  I  don't 
know  what  Letitia  would  say.  I  won't  take  another 
14 


2io  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

toad,  not  one.  I  have  thirty-two  already.  I  shall 
land  in  the  poor  house." 

"  But  you  promised/'  said  Lucy. 

"  Hang  it,  Lucy,  I  can't  help  it  if  I  did."  She  de- 
scended the  stairs  in  a  stormy  mood.  "  You  can  go 
away,"  she  said  to  the  children,  "  I  have  all  the  toads 
I  want.  I  did  not  mean  to  keep  on  taking  them  all 
summer." 

Tears  came  into  the  eyes  of  the  smaller  girl. 
"  The  paper  said  the  lady  would  pay  five  cents  for 
every  toad,"  she  remarked  in  a  faltering  voice. 

"  You  can  never  believe  all  you  see  in  the  paper," 
said  Miss  Deborah  with  dignity. 

The  little  girl  lifted  up  the  cover  of  the  basket  in 
a  hesitating  way.  "  There's  six,  and  we  worked 
real  hard  to  get  them,"  she  said. 

Miss  Deborah  was  beginning  to  feel  heartily 
ashamed  of  herself.  "  Come  into  the  dining-room 
and  I  will  make  you  some  lemonade,"  she  told  them. 
"  After  all,  a  promise  is  a  promise.  I  will  take  the 
six  toads.  Thirty-eight,"  she  added  under  her 
breath. 

The  next  morning  she  took  another  notice  to  the 
editor,  stating  that  no  more  toads  were  wanted,  but 
in  spite  of  this  fact  toads  arrived  in  rapid  succession. 
Before  the  week  was  over  Miss  Deborah  found  her- 
self the  possessor  of  sixty  of  these  interesting  creat- 
ures. Lucy  always  took  the  children's  part,  but 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  211 

when  the  high-water  mark  of  sixty  was  reached, 
even  Lucy  thought  it  time  to  call  a  halt. 

"  I've  spent  three  dollars  on  those  confounded 
toads,"  Miss  Deborah  said,  "  not  to  mention  the 
twenty  cents  "for  frogs  I  didn't  keep;  if  it  goes  on 
much  longer  it  will  be  worse  than  one  of  the  plagues. 
I  am  sorry  Letitia  is  so  disturbed.  She  writes  that 
we  are  making  ourselves  the  laughing-stock  of  Ep- 
pingham.  I  suppose  Sarah  Lutterworth  has  sent 
her  one  of  her  lively  letters.  It  is  funny !  Of  course 
it  is  funny !  I  can  see  myself  that  there  is  an  amus- 
ing side  to  it,  but  I  don't  see  why  Letitia  should 
mind  when  she  is  neatly  out  of  it.  Who  would  have 
supposed  that  toads  were  so  numerous  in  Epping- 
ham?" 

After  Miss  Deborah's  sixty  toads  had  been  cheer- 
fully disporting  themselves  in  her  garden  for  a  few 
days,  John  Forsyth  unexpectedly  arrived  to  spend  a 
night  with  his  aunts  on  the  way  to  join  his  family  at 
North  East  Harbor. 

It  was  delightful  to  see  the  dear  fellow,  but  both 
aunts  devoutly  hoped  he  would  not  hear  of  the  toad 
episode,  for  they  were  beginning  to  feel  sensitive, 
and  their  nephew  had  a  sense  of  humor. 

"  It  is  so  good  to  see  you,"  John  said,  as  they  all 
three  sat  out  on  the  piazza  after  tea.  "  I  was  in 
Newport  for  a  day  or  two  last  week,  and  I  hunted 
up  Aunt  Letitia.  She  is  at  one  of  the  swellest  hotels, 


212  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

and  I  thought  she  looked  in  first-rate  condition,  but 
she  seemed  a  little  homesick." 

"  Letitia  homesick?"  Miss  Deborah  asked  in- 
credulously. 

"  I  fancy  being  with  Miss  Macauley  isn't  all  Aunt 
Letitia's  fancy  painted  it.  She  said  something  enig- 
matical about  never  knowing  people  until  you 
live  in  the  house  with  them.  She  said  Miss  Mac- 
auley was  a  most  interesting  woman,  but  that  she 
liked  her  own  way,"  he  added,  with  a  gleam  of 
amusement  in  his  eyes.  "  In  short,  I  think  Aunt 
Letitia  will  be  quite  reconciled  when  her  time  is  up. 
How  well  your  hollyhocks  and  sweet  peas  and 
dahlias  are  looking,  Aunt  Deborah." 

"  Don't  be  satirical,  John ;  the  garden  never 
looked  so  badly.  Still,  if  you  could  have  seen  it  a 
fortnight  ago  when  we  came  down  from  the  moun- 
tains, you  would  be  amazed  at  the  improvement." 

"  Did  I  see  a  toad  in  the  garden  ?  "  John  asked. 
"  I  certainly  did.  There  goes  another !  And  there 
is  a  third  one  hopping  along !  How  odd.  There  is 
a  fourth !  I  never  saw  so  many  toads  before." 

"  The  garden  is  full  of  them,"  said  Miss  Deborah. 
"  They  eat  the  insects,  so  we  are  glad  to  have  them." 

"  I  suppose  they  all  happened  along  of  their  own 
accord  ?  "  John  inquired  nonchalantly. 

"  Quite  so,"  said  his  aunt  Deborah.  "  The  gar- 
den gate  was  ajar  and  they  walked  in." 


Miss  Deborah's  Garden  213 

"  That  was  very  convenient." 

John  began  to  laugh,  and  so  did  his  aunt  Deb- 
orah. 

"  I  might  have  known  your  aunt  Letitia  would 
have  told  you  the  whole  story,"  she  said. 

"  You  forget  that  Esther  takes  the  County  News. 
Just  how  many  toads  have  you  in  your  garden?" 
he  asked  confidentially. 

"  Almost  precisely  the  same  number  as  my  age, 
John— just  one  or  two  more.  Now,  you  know  it 
isn't  polite  to  ask  a  lady  her  age." 

"  If  you  have  only  as  many  as  you  are  years  old, 
Aunt  Deborah,  it  is  a  very  small  number,"  he  re- 
turned gallantly. 

"  Lucy,  isn't  it  pleasant  to  be  with  someone  who 
doesn't  tell  the  truth?" 

At  this  point  a  boy  with  a  pail  came  up  the  path- 
way. 

"  John,  you  go  and  tackle  him,"  said  Miss  Deb- 
orah. "  He  has  toads.  Tell  him  I  don't  want  any." 

"  Miss  Wyatt  doesn't  want  to  see  you;  you  can  go 
home,"  John  said. 

The  boy  lingered. 

Miss  Deborah  came  down  the  steps.  "I  don't 
want  any  more  toads,"  she  said;  "  and  what  is  more, 
I  won't  take  any  more  toads.  I  have  sixty  in  my 
garden.  I  can't  be  expected  to  buy  them  the  rest  of 
my  life.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Lutterworth  would  take 


214  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

them  of  you,"  she  added  with  cheerful  malice. 
"  Tell  her  Miss  Wyatt  sent  you  to  her." 

"  I  ain't  got  no  toads,"  said  the  boy  sullenly. 
"  What  should  I  be  doing  with  toads  ?  I've  got 
some  blackberries  Mr.  Newhall  sent  you  from  the 
farm,  but  if  you  don't  want  'em,  I'll  take  'em  to  the 
other  lady." 

"  We  do  want  them,"  said  Lucy,  hurrying  down 
the  steps  to  get  the  pail.  "  It  was  very  kind  of  Mr. 
Newhall  to  send  them." 

John  meanwhile  had  been  disgracing  the  family 
by  laughing  immoderately.  "  I  don't  want  any 
toads !  "  he  mimicked  after  the  boy  had  departed. 
"  If  you  could  only  have  heard  yourself,  as  you 
made  that  statement,  Aunt  Deborah." 

"  Well,  John,  I  don't  believe  you  would  want  any 
if  you  were  in  my  circumstances." 

"What  do  you  suppose  that  boy  thought?"  he 
asked  her.  "  What  report  will  he  give  the  old  man  ? 
'  Miss  Deborah  Wyatt  has  gone  crazy,'  will  be  the 
very  mildest  way  he'll  put  it.  Poor  old  Peter  New- 
hall!  You  owe  him  an  explanation." 

And  so  it  was  that  good  came  out  of  evil  and  that 
Mr.  Newhall  had  that  invitation  to  dine  with  the 
Wyatts,  an  event  that  was  one  of  the  crowning 
pleasures  of  a  long  life.  John  alone  knew  why  the 
invitation  was  given,  and  'he  promised  never  to  tell. 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  INDE- 
PENDENCE 


X 


A  STRUGGLE  FOR  INDEPEND- 
ENCE 

"  T  UCY,  are  you  going  out  on  this  damp  day 

J j  with  your  cold  ?  "  Miss  Letitia  asked,  as  she 

caught  a  glimpse  of  her  sister,  with  her  hat 
and  jacket  on  as  she  passed  through  the  hall. 

"  Yes,  I've  got  over  my  cold." 

"  I  heard  you  coughing  only  this  morning.  The 
wind  is  strong  from  the  east,"  she  added,  looking  out 
of  the  window  at  the  majestic  gilt  cock  that  sur- 
mounted the  Browns'  stable.  "  Where  are  you  go- 
ing?" 

Lucy  hesitated  half  a  minute ;  then  she  said : 

"  To  see  Josephine  Mason." 

"  You  had  better  give  it  up  if  it  isn't  anything 
any  more  important  than  that." 

"  It  is  almost  my  last  chance :  she  is  going  back 
to  Boston  the  end  of  the  week." 

"  Deborah,"    Miss    Letitia    called,    "  don't    you 

217 


218  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

think  Lucy  is  crazy  to  go  out  on  this  raw  day  with 
her  cold?  " 

Miss  Letitia  was  just  recovering  from  an  attack 
of  grippe  and  observed  that  she  could  feel  the  chill, 
even  in  the  house  with  the  windows  shut.  Miss 
Deborah,  on  the  contrary,  had  been  out  of  doors  all 
the  morning,  and  took  a  more  cheerful  view. 

"  I  don't  believe  it  will  hurt  her  if  she  is  properly 
dressed,"  she  said,  coming  in  from  the  next  room. 
"  I  think  you  might  as  well  go,  dear,  if  you  will 
wear  my  fur  cape." 

Lucy  was  glad  to  get  off  so  easily.  She  took  the 
cape  and  was  about  to  leave  the  house  when  Miss 
Deborah  called  after  her,  "Be  sure  to  take  an  um- 
brella, it  looks  as  if  it  might  rain,  and  be  back  by 
five.  It  is  very  damp  after  the  sun  has  gone  down. 
Goodness !  I  declare,  if  Mr.  Gray  isn't  after  another 
squirrel !  Lucy,  catch  him !  Oh,  you  are  so  slow !  " 
and  she  dashed  out  of  the  front  door  and  rescued  a 
gray  squirrel  who  was  about  to  receive  the  too  lov- 
ing embrace  of  her  cat. 

"  Mr.  Gray,  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  Miss  Deb- 
orah said,  as  she  took  him  up  in  her  arms.  "  I  don't 
mind  an  occasional  bird,  and  chickens  are  born  to  be 
eaten  by  somebody  as  surely  as  the  sparks  fly  up- 
ward, but  I  draw  the  line  at  squirrels !  Poor  old 
fellow,  I  know  it  isn't  your  fault,  it  is  the  way  you 
are  made." 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        219 

Lucy  proceeded  down  the  quiet  village  street  and 
her  sister  went  back  into  the  house. 

"  Mr.  Gray,  the  wind  is  strong  from  the  east;  I 
think  it  will  suit  your  constitution  better  to  stay  in 
the  rest  of  the  afternoon,"  Miss  Deborah  informed 
him.  She  then  proceeded  to  get  out  a  gown  she  was 
making  for  John's  little  Mary.  Time  never  hung 
'heavy  on  Miss  Deborah's  hands ;  on  the  contrary  the 
days  were  not  half  long  enough.  She  had  that  com- 
bination of  unfailing  good  spirits,  joined  to  energy, 
which  is  usually  the  portion  of  those  who  are  in  per- 
fect health.  It  was  the  opposite  with  her  sister  Lucy, 
who  had  always  been  delicate. 

"  I  declare,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  "  I  forgot  to  ask 
Lucy  if  she  had  her  rubbers  on.  Did  you  notice,  Le- 
titia?" 

"  No.  It  would  be  just  like  her  not  to  wear 
them." 

"  Well,  she  is  half  way  to  Josephine's  now,  but  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  to  know,"  and  Miss 
Deborah  went  to  the  hall  closet,  where  she  found 
three  pairs  of  rubbers  in  a  straight  row,  her  own, 
which  were  short  and  wide,  Letitia's  long  narrow 
pair,  and  Lucy's  number  fours. 

"  It  is  just  as  I  thought,  she  has  gone  out  without 
them.  I  wish  she  could  ever  learn  to  take  care  of 
herself." 

Lucy,  meanwhile,  was  wishing  that  her  sisters 


22O  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

would  ever  learn  that  she  could  take  care  of  her- 
self. 

It  was  a  dreary  afternoon.  The  November  sun 
was  obscured  by  dull  clouds  and  the  trees  were  bare : 
their  slender  twigs  stood  out  in  sharp  outline  against 
the  gray  of  the  sky.  To  Lucy  everything  looked 
gray,  both  the  present  and  the  future.  It  was  the 
cheerless  beginning  of  a  long  winter. 

Lucy  had  hardly  become  accustomed  to  being 
grown-up  before  she  awoke  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
a  middle-aged  woman.  She  had  had  a  long  youth, 
her  own  position  as  the  youngest  of  the  family,  her 
slight  figure,  and  her  golden  hair  had  all  served  to 
help  her  and  others  to  forget  that  she  had  passed  the 
boundary  where  youth  gives  place  to  middle-age; 
but  she  knew  it  now;  the  tell-tale  lines  in  her  thin 
face  sharply  impressed  it  on  her  mind.  She  was  past 
forty  and  she  had  the  inexperience  of  life  of  a  girl. 
She  walked  on  down  the  main  street  of  the  village, 
then  she  turned  and  went  up  a  narrow  side  street, 
pausing  irresolutely  when  she  reached  a  green- 
house, but  finally  going  in.  There  were  few  things 
that  Lucy  loved  as  she  loved  flowers.  The  outside 
of  the  green-house  with  its  oblong  panes  of  greenish 
glass  gave  her  the  same  feeling  of  keen  anticipation 
that  the  drop-curtain  gives  to  the  theatre-lover. 

"  Oh,  how  delightful  it  is  here,"  she  thought,  as 
she  was  greeted  by  the  warm,  damp  smell  of  earth 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        221 

and  the  fragrance  of  roses  and  carnations.  Mrs. 
Tucker,  who  kept  the  green-house  was  an  old 
school-mate  of  hers. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Lucy?  "  she  asked.  "  I'm  real 
glad  to  see  you.  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for 
you  this  afternoon  ?  " 

"  I  want  some  roses ;  Jacqueminots,  if  they  are  not 
too  expensive." 

"  Jacks  come  pretty  high  this  time  of  year.  I've 
got  some  good  ones  though  in  the  other  room." 

There  were  jars  standing  on  the  counter  full  of 
cut  flowers,  thrust  in  with  no  thought  of  symmetry. 
Lucy's  fingers  ached  to  rearrange  the  red  and  white 
and  pink  carnations,  and  the  roses,  pink,  white,  and 
yellow,  that  were  all  occupying  the  same  large  jar. 

"  There,  that's  a  pretty  good  show  for  Novem- 
ber," said  Mrs.  Tucker  returning. 

"  What  beauties.    How  much  are  they?  " 

"  Two  dollars  a  dozen." 

"  I'll  take  a  dozen." 

"  A  whole  dozen  ?  Goodness !  You  must  have 
money-  to  burn!  Is  it  an  engagement?" 

"  No." 

"  Well,  I  don't  suppose  it  is  any  of  my  business. 
Sit  down.  It  is  a  long  time  since  I  have  seen  you." 

"  How  are  you  getting  on?  " 

"  First  rate,  until  Ida's  marriage  last  month. 
That's  left  me  kind  o'  short-handed.  The  boys  are 


222  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

real  good.  They  took  hold  first  rate  after  their  fa- 
ther's death,  and  they  do  all  the  heavy  work  same 
as  if  they'd  been  brought  up  to  it,  but  they  haven't 
got  any  taste.  Ida  always  attended  to  the  cut  flow- 
ers, and  she  kept  the  accounts.  I'm  looking  for 
some  spry,  trustworthy  body  to  take  her  place.  You 
don't  know  of  anyone,  do  you?  " 

"  No,  I  wish  I  did.  It  would  be  delightful  work. 
And  so  Ida  is  married?  It  does  not  seem  as  if  you 
could  be  old  enough  to  have  a  married  daughter! 
You  are  a  few  months  younger  than  I  am." 

"  What,  going  so  soon  ?  I  hoped  you  could  sit 
clown  a  spell  and  have  a  real  good  talk  about  old 
times." 

"  I  can't  stop  this  afternoon,  thank  you." 

"  If  you  hear  of  any  treasure  anywhere  between 
twenty  and  thirty-five  let  me  know.  I  think  on  the 
whole  I'd  rather  have  some  one  older  than  twenty. 
Girls  are  so  heedless.  They  are  always  thinking  of 
their  beaux.  Well,  good-by,  if  you  must  go.  How 
lucky  you  are  to  be  able  to  go  out  any  time  of  day 
you  like,  and  not  to  have  anything  to  do  but  amuse 
yourself.  I  wish  I  was  in  your  shoes !  " 

"  You  needn't,"  said  Lucy.  "  You  wouldn't  like 
them  if  you  were.  I  would  give  anything  in  the 
world  if  I  had  something  to  do." 

As  Lucy  walked  up  the  gravel  path  that  led  to 
Mrs.  Newhall's  boarding-house  she  had  a  feeling  of 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        223 

exhilaration.  It  was  as  if  the  sun  had  suddenly 
come  out  in  the  November  sky  and  turned  the  sea- 
son into  June.  A  moment  later  she  was  knocking 
timidly  on  the  door  of  Josephine's  room. 

"  Come  in,"  answered  a  fresh  contralto  voice  that 
thrilled  her  through  and  through. 

As  Lucy  entered  the  room  her  eyes  were  dazzled 
by  the  warmth  and  cheer.  On  the  hearth  there  was 
a  blazing  wood  fire  that  threw  its  brightness  into  all 
the  dim  corners,  and  there  was  not  a  corner  that  was 
commonplace.  The  dingy  wall-paper  was  almost 
covered  by  spirited  sketches,  gifts  of  Josephine's 
artist  friends,  and  the  ugly  ingrain  carpet  was  bur- 
ied under  oriental  rugs.  There  were  rich  hangings 
and  quaint  pieces  of  furniture,  and  Josephine's  pi- 
ano, but  best  of  all  there  was  Josephine  herself  in  the 
thin  black  gown  that  Lucy  loved  so  well,  dark- 
haired,  beautiful,  brilliant  Josephine,  a  woman  al- 
most as  old  as  Lucy  herself,  and  yet  a  woman  who 
might  have  sat  for  a  picture  of  eternal,  radiant 
youth. 

"  Lucy,  how  good  of  you !  Are  all  those  beauti- 
ful roses  for  me  ?  How  did  you  know  that  Jacque- 
minots were  my  favorite  flower?  Wait  until  I  get 
a  vase  and  you  must  arrange  them.  No  one  can  ar- 
range flowers  like  you ;  but  I  must  keep  this  beauty," 
and  she  fastened  a  half-opened  bud  into  her  bodice. 

"  It  seems  a  pity  to  break  up  this   pretty    nest." 


224  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

Josephine  said  presently,  giving  a  hasty  glance 
around  the  room.  "  The  piano,  poor  thing,  has  got 
to  go  to-morrow." 

Lucy's  spirits  were  sinking  lower  and  lower.  "  I 
don't  know  what  I  shall  do  without  you,"  she  said 
in  a  dreary  voice. 

"  Oh,  you  will  find  lots  of  things  to  do.  That  is 
the  joy  of  life.  If  it  isn't  one  thing  it  is  another." 

"  Not  for  me." 

Poor  Lucy  was  feeling  the  approaching  separation 
so  keenly  that  she  could  hardly  speak.  It  was  intol- 
erable to  her  that  Josephine  should  go  her  careless 
way  with  hardly  a  thought  for  her.  "  The  joy  of 
life !  If  it  is  not  one  thing,  it  is  another !  "  Those 
words  so  lightly  spoken  suggested  a  wealth  of 
friendships  and  interests  that  filled  her  with  tortur- 
ing jealousy. 

*'  I  believe  you  are  glad  to  go,"  she  said. 

"  I  can't  help  being  glad  to  get  back  to  all  my 
friends  and  the  Symphony  rehearsals  and  my  pupils. 
Yes,  I  am  glad,  but  I'm  sorry  to  leave  you.  I  should 
like  to  take  you  with  me." 

They  talked  for  a  few  minutes  and  then  Lucy  said 
timidly,  "  You  promised  to  play  to  me  whatever  I 
wanted  to  hear — this  laat  time." 

Josephine  sat  down  at  the  piano  and  struck  a  few 
random  chords.  "  What  shall  it  be  first  ?  "  she 
asked. 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        225 

"  The  Andante  from  Beethoven's  Fifth  Sym- 
phony." 

Lucy  in  her  corner  behind  the  piano-stool  could 
let  her  tears  flow  unnoticed.  She  called  for  Chopin, 
Brahms,  Wagner,  Schubert,  and  Beethoven.  Jose- 
phine played  with  fire  and  feeling.  She  had  never 
had  a  more  passionately  appreciative  audience. 
What  did  it  mean,  this  wonderful  music?  Lucy 
asked  herself.  A  world  where  it  was  good  to  be,  in 
spite  of  care  and  sorrow.  A  world  where,  notwith- 
standing apparent  discord,  there  was  harmony. 
Spring,  summer,  autumn,  winter,  each  was  needed; 
youth,  middle  age,  old  age,  these  were  mere  inci- 
dents. Life  was  glorious,  not  only  for  the  young 
with  their  opportunity  all  before  them,  but  also  for 
the  others,  yes,  even  for  those  who,  like  herself,  had 
failed;  for  failure  miorht  be  but  the  forerunner  of 
a  more  spiritual  success.  She  was  glad  to  be  alive, 
glad,  in  spite  of  her  dull  life  and  delicate  health,  glad 
that  there  were  years  and  years  before  her. 

Josephine  played  on,  half  unconscious  of  the  quiet 
figure  in  the  corner ;  her  thoughts  were  on  her  own 
future. 

The  charm  was  suddenly  broken  by  the  ringing 
of  a  discordant  bell. 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Lucv,  "  it  is  six  o'clock !    I  had 
no  idea  it  was  so  late.    I  must  hurry  home.    My  sis- 
ters expected  me  at  five." 
15 


226  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  My  dear,  you  must  stay  and  take  tea  with  me. 
I'll  send  word  to  your  sisters.  A  boarding-house 
supper  is  not  the  most  entrancing  thing  in  the  world, 
but  I'll  get  Mrs.  Newhall  to  send  ours  up  to  us,  and 
we'll  have  a  cozy  time  in  front  of  the  fire." 

She  overbore  all  Lucy's  objections,  which  indeed 
were  but  feebly  stated,  for  what  could  be  more  en- 
chanting "than  taking  tea  with  Josephine  ?  Their 
simple  meal,  consisting  of  milk-toast,  cold  mutton, 
stewed  prunes  and  cake,  tasted  to  Lucy  like  the  nec- 
tar and  ambrosia  of  the  gods.  Afterwards  the  two 
women  drew  their  chairs  up  before  the  fire,  and 
Josephine  talked  in  her  rapid,  piquant  fashion,  while 
the  firelight  touched  her  animated  face  and  shone  on 
the  red  rose  in  her  bodice. 

"  You  will  write  to  me?  "  Lucy  begged. 

"  I  don't  know.  I  hate  to  write  letters.  My  theo- 
ry is  that  it  is  easy  to  pick  up  a  friendship  where  you 
leave  it  off." 

"  But  suppose  we  should  not  meet  for  years  and 
years  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  must  come  and  stay  with  me  this  win- 
ter. I  only  pay  fifteen  dollars  a  week.  If  my  ship 
comes  in  I  will  ask  you  outright,  but,  unfortunately, 
my  ship  is  the  kind  that  is  on  the  high  seas  most  of 
the  time." 

Lucy  did  not  wonder  at  this  when  she  looked 
around  the  room  at  the  profusion  of  rare  things  that 


/  A  Struggle  for  Independence        227 

it  must  have  cost  so  much  to  get  together.  Jose- 
phine's reckless  manner  of  spending  money  was  a 
continual  surprise  to  Lucy.  She  did  not  like  to  own 
that  fifteen  dollars  a  week  was  a  sum  that  would  put 
a  visit  to  Boston  out  of  the  question  for  her. 

"  I  wish  you  had  more  to  do,"  said  Josephine  sud- 
denly. "  When  one  is  busy  it  doesn't  matter  who 
comes  or  goes." 

"  There  is  not  much  that  I  can  do.  Deborah  is  so 
strong  and  self-reliant,  she  manages  the  house,  and 
she  prefers  to  take  almost  the  whole  charge  of  the 
garden.  It  is  foolish  to  care  for  things  as  I  do. 
Flowers  seem  to  me  like  friends,  I  love  them  so.  I 

think  if  Deborah  and  Letitia  only  knew "  she 

paused.  "  All  my  life  I  have  yielded,"  s'he  went  on 
presently.  "  It  was  easier  to  yield  than  to  argue,  but 
I  have  yielded  with  rebellion  in  my  heart;  now  I 
mean  to  try  to  be  more  patient." 

"  For  heaven's  sake  don't  be  any  more  patient," 
Josephine  begged. 

"  If  I  had  had  a  husband  and  children  and  a  home 
of  my  own,"  Lucy  continued,  "  perhaps  I  should 
have  developed  into  the  woman  I  was  meant  to  be, 

but  as  it  is It  isn't  Deborah's  fault.  She  gives 

abundantly,  and  takes.  Whether  it  is  a  child,  or  a 
kitten,  or  merely  an  occupation,  she  has  to  appropri- 
ate it  with  the  intensity  of  a  strong  nature.  As  for 


228  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 


Letitia,  she  has  always  had  an  extremely  high  stand- 
ard, and  it  is  difficult  to  satisfy  her." 

"  Poor  child !  "  said  Josephine.  She  suddenly  put 
out  her  strong  hand  and  crushed  Lucy's  thin  one 
within  it.  Lucy  put  up  her  other  hand  to  brush 
away  her  tears. 

"  I  wish  you  had  some  vital  interest  in  your  life 
that  would  take  the  place  my  music  does  with  me." 

"  I  haven't  the  ghost  of  a  talent." 

"  What  you  need  is  an  occupation  outside  your 
own  house.  You  are  fond  of  flowers.  Why  don't 
you  go  into  Mrs.  Tucker's  green-house?  She  says 
she  wants  an  assistant." 

The  audacity  of  this  proposal  fairly  took  Lucy's 
breath  away. 

"  Oh,"  she  gasped,  "  we  don't  need  money  so 
much  as  that.  I  don't  think  you  quite  understand 
the  way  things  are  in  a  country  town.  Mrs.  Tucker 
is  a  very  nice  person — we  went  to  the  public-school 
together — but  she  isn't  a  lady.  I  never  heard  of  a 
lady  going  into  a  green-house." 

"Didn't  you?  I  have.  Not  that  it  makes  any  dif- 
ference. Whatever  the  occupation  is,  if  a  lady  does 
it,  she  is  still  a  lady ;  and  the  more  women  of  refine- 
ment take  up  such  work  the  easier  it  will  be  for  a 
vast  number  of  others." 

"  I  am  sure  my  sisters  would  never  consent." 

"  They  would  if  you  insisted,   and  if  you  sue- 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        229 

ceeded  they  would  be  very  proud  of  you  and  your 
rebellion  would  become  a  revolution.  Your  sisters 
would  respect  you  more — yes,  they  would  even  love 
you  more  if  you  led  your  own  life :  and  the  money 
you  earned  would  give  them  many  luxuries,  and 
you  could  come  to  Boston  and  stay  with  me.  I  see 
it  all  so  clearly,"  she  went  on  rapidly;  "you  have 
just  the  sort  of  taste  that  would  make  a  new  thing  of 
Mrs.  Tucker's  green-house,  and  it  would  startle  peo- 
ple so  to  have  you  do  it."  She  gave  a  merry  laugh. 
"  Fancy  the  joy  of  stirring  up  a  staid  community 
like  this !  Lucy  dear,  you  must  do  it  if  only  to  give 
me  the  pleasure  of  hearing  what  people  will  say." 

It  was  half-past  ten  when  Josephine  and  Mrs. 
Newhall's  maid  left  Lucy  at  her  own  door.  She  was 
horrified  at  the  lateness  of  the  hour,  but  the  time  had 
slipped  away  without  her  realizing  it.  Her  sister 
Deborah  was  sitting  up  for  her. 

"  Letitia  has  gone  to  bed,"  she  remarked,  "  but 
she  has  not  been  able  to  get  to  sleep.  We  were  both 
worried  about  you.  We  expected  you  by  nine 
o'clock  at  the  latest.  We  could  not  imagine  what 
had  happened." 

As  she  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs  a  voice  called 
out,  "  Come  in  here,  Lucy.  Why  were  you  so  late?  " 
Miss  Letitia  demanded. 

"  I  didn't  know  it  was  so  late.    I  am  very  sorry." 

"  I  was  afraid  something  had  happened  to  you  on 


230  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

the  way  home.  I  have  never  had  an  easy  moment 
when  you  have  been  out  at  night  since  that  man  was 
knocked  down.  Really,  Lucy,  I  am  out  of  patience 
with  you  for  being  so  heedless.  Didn't  it  occur  to 
you  that  Deborah  and  I  might  worry?  It  spoiled 
our  whole  evening.  We  had  been  looking  forward 
to  reading  aloud,  and  we  expected  you  by  half-past 
eight." 

Lucy  spent  a  wakeful  night.  She  was  haunted  in- 
sistently by  Josephine's  music.  She  felt  as  if  it  were 
calling  to  her  to  fear  nothing,  but,  forgetting  the 
past,  to  dare  to  face  the  future.  What  if  Josephine 
were  right,  and  if  salvation  lay,  not  along  the  old, 
monotonous  track,  not  in  learning  to  be  more  pa- 
tient, less  rebellious,  but  in  having  the  courage  to 
dig  up  the  talents  she  had  hitherto  buried,  and  to  go 
out  into  the  world,  strong  in  the  sense  of  right  and 
freedom  ? 

As  the  result  of  three  wakeful  nights  she  made  a 
visit  late  one  afternoon  to  the  green-house. 

"  I'm  awful  busy,"  Mrs.  Tucker  said.  "  There's  a 
big  wedding,  a  mechanic's  daughter,  Nellie  Slocum, 
I  don't  suppose  you  know  her  folks,  and  I've  got  to 
make  up  a  bokay  of  bride  roses,  and  four  pink  bo- 
kays  for  the  bridesmaids.  I  miss  Ida  at  such  times. 
Seems  as  though  my  fingers  was  all  thumbs." 

"  Let  me  help  you,"  said  Lucy. 

She  took  off  her  jacket  and  gloves  and  began  to 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        231 

arrange  the  bride's  bouquet.  The  roses  were  half- 
open  and  their  creamy  whiteness  was  such  a  joy  to 
her  that  she  touched  them  lightly  with  her  lips  when 
Mrs.  Tucker  was  not  looking. 

"  You  beautiful,  beautiful  things,"  she  murmured, 
and  she  breathed  a  little  prayer  that  the  young  bride 
might  be  very  happy.  "  Go  to  her  and  tell  her  that 
life  is  a  joy  when  we  love,"  she  thought,  "  and  that 
no  matter  what  happens  she  must  be  content  to  have 
found  the  best  thing  that  life  can  give.  And  when 
sorrow  comes,  tell  her  when  sorrow  comes,  that  she 
must  still  remember  she  has  had  the  .best." 

"  Why,  Lucy,  how  fine  you've  made  'em  look — 
same  as  if  you'd  been  brought  up  to  the  trade  from 
your  cradle.  I've  made  my  bunch  kind  o'  scraggly. 
Ida  always  told  me  I  made  my  bokays  either  too 
scraggly  or  too  prim.  Would  you  mind  fixing  mine 
a  little?  The  bridegroom  is  coming  for  the  white 
ones.  The  others  I've  got  to  send." 

A  little  later  an  awkward  young  fellow  came 
strolling  in,  looking  as  if  he  were  very  happy,  but 
ashamed  to  have  any  one  suspect  the  fact. 

"  Are  the  roses  ready  ?  "  he  asked,  as  if  roses  were 
foolishness,  and  he  would  be  thankful  when  the  day 
was  over. 

"  Yes.  I  will  get  a  box  for  you.  Did  you  ever 
see  more  beautiful  roses  ?  "  Lucy  asked  timidly. 


232  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  They  are  quite  handsome,"  he  admitted  with 
seeming  reluctance. 

"  You  are  going  to  be  very  happy,"  Lucy  said 
shyly,  "  and  there  is  just  one  piece  of  advice  I  want 
to  give  you."  She  felt  as  much  detached  from  her 
usual  self  as  if  she  were  in  another  world.  "  Don't 
be  afraid  to  show  you  are  happy.  Women  never  get 
tired  of  being  told  how  much  you  care  for  them.  It 
may  be  foolish,  but  they  never  do,  and  it  saves  so 
many  heart-aches  to  say  things  straight  out  in  plain 
words." 

The  young  fellow  looked  at  her  in  a  half-startled 
way.  "  Do  you  know  her?  "  he  asked. 

"  No." 

"  Well,  Lucy,  I'm  greatly  obliged  to  you,"  said 
Mrs.  Tucker.  "  I  forgot  to  ask  what  you  come  for. 
Can  I  give  you  some  more  two-dollar  '  Jacks  '  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  came — "  she  hesitated.  "  I 
came,  to  ask  if  you  thought — if  you  thought  you 
would  like  to  try  me  for  a  month  as  your  assistant." 

"You?  For  the  land's  sake,  Lucy  Wyatt,  how 
did  you  ever  get  your  folks  to  consent?  " 

"  I  haven't  told  them  yet.  I  wanted  to  find  out 
first  if  there  was  any  chance  of  your  taking  me.  I 
was  afraid  you  would  think  me  too  old." 

"  I  guess  you  are  not  any  too  old,  Lucy  Wyatt. 
You're  so's  you  can  get  around." 

"  And  then  I  am  inexperienced." 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        233 

"  So  you  think  you've  got  the  faults  of  the  old  and 
the  young  too? " 

"Yes.  I  find  that  is  what  it  is  to  be  middle- 
aged." 

"  Well,  I  look  at  it  just  the  other  way  round. 
You  are  old  enough  when  you  are  forty  to  have  got 
some  sense,  and  you're  young  enough  to  enjoy 
everything  that's  going.  I  find  it  a  real  pleasant 
time  of  life." 

"  Will  you  try  me  for  a  month  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  will !    I'll  be  thankful  to  get  you." 

"  I  ought  to  tell  you  I  am  very  stupid  at  arith- 
metic. It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  learn  to  keep 
your  books." 

"  Anything  more  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  strong.  I  shouldn't  be  able  to  work  all 
day,  so  I  shouldn't  expect  full  wages.  I  haven't  a 
bit  of  self-confidence,  and  perhaps " 

"  That'll  do.  And  the  next  time  you  are  looking 
for  a  job  I  advise  you  to  bring  some  reference  be- 
side your  own.  It  sounds  pretty  risky,"  she  added 
with  a  shake  of  her  curly  head.  "  But  I'll  try  you 
for  old  acquaintance'  sake.  I'll  expect  you  Mon- 
day morning." 

Now  that  Lucy  had  resolved  to  take  the  fatal  step 
she  was  seized  with  a  hundred  misgivings.  Thct 
evening,  while  Letitia  and  Deborah  took  turns  "in 
reading  aloud,  she  was  outwardly  present,  but  in- 


234  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

wardly  absent,  traveling  many  roads  that  all  re- 
turned in  a  circle  to  the  point  whence  they  started, 
namely,  the  stern  admonition  of  her  conscience,  that 
it  was  less  underhanded  to  tell  her  sisters  her  deter- 
mination at  once. 

"  It  is  time  to  go  to  bed,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  as 
the  clock  struck  half-past  nine. 

She  closed  her  book  and  started  to  put  out  the 
lights. 

"  Deborah,  don't  be  in  such  a  hurry,"  remon- 
strated Miss  Letitia.  "  I  want  to  finish  this  leaf.  I 
dislike  to  leave  a  piece  of  embroidery  unfinished 
over  Sunday  When  it  is  so  nearly  done." 

"  And  I  have  some  news  to  tell  you,"  said  Lucy 
in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"  Some  news?  How  exciting!  Is  it  an  engage- 
ment ?  " 

"  Oh,  no.  Not  an  engagement  of  marriage,  at 
least.  It  is  only  an  engagement  of  another  sort  I 

have  made.  I  have  promised "  she  hesitated, 

then  ran  the  words  out  in  a  tumultuous  rush,  "  I 
have  promised  to  help  Maud  Tucker  in  her  green- 
house." 

"  Lucy  Wyatt !    Are  you  crazy  ?  " 

"  Is  it  crazy  to  want  to  lead  my  own  life?  I  am 
tired  of  doing  nothing.  I  have  never  done  any  work 
in  the  world  that  counted.  I  love  flowers,  and  I 
am  sure  that  I  can  be  a  help  to  her.  I  am  not 


A  Struggle  for  Independence   "    235 

needed  at  home,  and  I  should  like  a  little  more 
money." 

For  a  moment  there  was  an  uncomfortable  silence. 
Then  Miss  Letitia  said  with  cold  aloofness,  "  Is 
there  anything  we  ever  grudged  you  that  you 
wanted?  We  may  not  have  so  much  money  as 
our  neighbors,  but  we  have  always  given  you  an 
even  share  of  what  we  had." 

"  You  have  always  been  very  generous." 

"  No  woman  in  our  family  has  ever  been  reduced 
to  earning  money,"  said  Miss  Letitia.  "We  have 
been  ladies  for  generations." 

"  I  am  tired  of  being  a  lady.  I  want  to  be  a  wo- 
man." 

"  Lucy,"  said  her  sister  Deborah,  "  you  are  alto- 
gether too  delicate  to  do  such  hard  work.  The  hot, 
damp  air  would  be  trying;  you  would  take  cold  be- 
fore a  week  was  over." 

"  I  have  promised  to  try  it  for  a  month." 

"  You  completely  take  my  breath  away,"  Miss 
Deborah  continued.  "  It  is  Josephine's  doing.  You 
were  very  contented  before  she  came." 

"  I  have  never  been  contented,"  said  Lucy  in  a 
low  voice.  "  I  have  been  deceitful  and  kept  my  feel- 
ings to  myself.  It  was  easier  than  to  give  you  pain, 
but  all  my  life  I  have  wanted  things  I  did  not  have. 

When  I  was  young,  you "  she  hesitated.  It 

seemed  cruel  to  go  on. 


236  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Whenever  we  gave  you  advice,  it  was  for  your 
good,  as  events  proved,"  said  Miss  Letitia. 

"  I  know  you  thought  it  for  my  good.  Well,  we 
won't  talk  about  that ;  my  youth  is  over,  but  I  have 
a  long  life  ahead  of  me,  it  is  my  life,  no  one  can  live 
it  for  me.  I  want  to  try  my  own  experiments.  I 
want  to  do  a  little  honest  work  in  the  world." 

"  Lucy,  it  is  absurd  for  you  to  imagine  that  you 
can  begin  to  work  at  your  age,  when  you  have  al- 
ways led  such  a  free  life,"  said  Miss  Letitia.  "  It 
isn't  as  if  you  were  twenty.  You  will  find  that  you 
will  dislike  the  confinement.  And  then  just  fancy 
how  people  will  talk !  Imagine  what  Mrs.  Lutter- 
worth  will  say." 

"  Let  them  talk.  They  may  talk  and  I  will  be 
happy." 

"  I  think  you  are  unreasonable  to  want  more  than 
you  have,  dear,"  said  Miss  Deborah.  "  I  am  per- 
fectly happy  in  my  own  home.  What  with  the  house 
and  garden  and  Mr.  Gray  and  Cowslip,  and  sewing 
and  reading  and  calling  on  my  neighbors,  I  don't 
think  there  is  a  happier  person  in  Eppingham  than 
I  am." 

"  Because  it  is  your  work,  Deborah,  your  work 
and  your  house,  your  garden,  your  cow  and  your 
cat.  I  want  my  work,  my  own  work.  I  shall  be 
happier  and  stronger  if  I  have  it." 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        237 

"  My  house !  My  garden !  My  cow !  My  cat ! 
ejaculated  Miss  Deborah. 

"  You  do  have  a  way  of  taking  possession  of 
everything,  Deborah,"  assented  Miss  Letitia,  as  she 
handed  her  needle  over  to  Lucy  to  thread. 

"  My  cat !  "  the  words  rankled  in  Miss  Deborah's 
mind.  "  Why,  Lucy,  you  brought  him  home  your- 
self." 

Lucy  got  up  to  leave  the  room.  "  We  won't  talk 
any  more  about  it  to-night,"  she  said  wearily. 

Miss  Deborah  detained  her,  however,  by  a  fresh 
argument,  and  they  threshed  the  matter  out  for  half 
an  hour. 

"  For  heaven's  sake  let's  go  to  bed,"  said  Miss 
Letitia  at  last,  as  she  took  the  final  stitch  in  her  em- 
broidery, "  I  hate  a  discussion  at  this  time  of 
night.  It  keeps  me  awake  for  hours.  You  are  a  wo- 
man grown,  Lucy,  and  if  you  insist  upon  doing  an 
insane  thing  we  have  no  right  to  prevent  it." 

"  Of  course  I  can  give  up,  as  I  have  done  all  my 
life,  but  if  I  do,  knowing  as  I  do  now  what  is  right, 
I  shall  never  have  a  happy  moment.  I  shall  despise 
myelf,  and  the  Lord  will  despise  me.  It  will  be 
worse  than  selling  my  birthright." 

Letitia  left  the  room.  Her  tall  figure  was  drawn 
up  to  its  full  height,  and  her  face  expressed  cold 
disdain  and  an  absolute  lack  of  sympathy.  Deb- 
orah, on  the  contrary,  had  been  thrilled  through  and 


238  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

through  by  Lucy's  words.  She  had  an  admiration 
for  pluck,  joined  to  a  natural  curiosity  to  see  what 
would  happen  if  her  sister  carried  out  her  plans. 

"  Lucy,"  she  said,  kissing  her  good-night  more 
tenderly  than  usual,  "  try  your  experiment  for  a 
week,  and  if  it  doesn't  succeed  I  think  I  can  promise 
to  have  the  self-restraint  not  to  say,  '  I  told  you 
so.'  " 

"  It  is  just  as  I  knew  it  would  be,"  Miss  Letitia 
said,  when  Lucy  came  home  from  the  green-house  at 
the  end  of  three  days  with  a  bad  cold.  Miss  Deb- 
orah said  nothing.  She  shut  her  lips  together  very 
hard  that  she  might  not  remind  Letitia  who  it  was 
who  had  predicted  that  Lucy  would  take  cold. 

Lucy  was  so  wretched  for  two  days  that  her  sis- 
ters persuaded  her  to  stay  at  home.  Finally,  on  the 
third  morning  they  called  in  Dr.  Simonds. 

"  My  sister  took  her  cold  in  Mrs.  Tucker's  green- 
house," Miss  Letitia  informed  him.  "  The  air  is  so 
hot  and  damp  that  it  is  a  great  exposure." 

Dr.  Simonds  was  a  man  of  few  words.  He  took 
Lucy's  temperature  and  found  that  it  was  normal ; 
then  he  looked  at  her  hard  through  his  gold-bowed 
spectacles. 

"  Do  you  like  to  be  in  the  green-house?  "  he  asked 
her. 

"  I  haven't  enjoyed  anything  so  much  since  I  was 
a  girl." 


A  Struggle  for  Independence        239 

"Is  this  the  first  cold  you've  had  for  a  long 
time?  " 

"  Oh,  no.    I  'had  one  only  a  few  weeks  ago." 

"  Then  it  may  not  necessarily  be  the  green-house 
that  is  responsible.  Couldn't  you  wear  something 
thin,  a  summer  shirt-waist,  for  instance,  while  you 
sre  there,  and  then  put  on  extra  wraps  when  you 
come  out  into  the  cold  ?  " 

Lucy  could  not  resist  giving  her  sisters  a  tri- 
umphant glance. 

"  To  tell  the  truth,"  said  Miss  Deborah,  with  that 
uncompromising  honesty  that  endeared  her  to  her 
friends,  "  Lucy  came  down  in  a  shirt-waist  the  first 
morning  she  went  to  the  green-house,  and  I  made 
her  go  upstairs  and  change  it  for  something  thicker." 

"  Of  course  you  did,"  said  Miss  Letitia,  "  and  you 
were  entirely  right.  The  doctor  has  never  realized 
how  delicate  Lucy  is.  When  she  is  at  home  we  can 
watch  over  her  and  make  her  take  some  sort  of  care 
of  herself,  but  even  with  all  our  pains  she  is  far 
from  strong.  I  am  sure,  if  she  stays  in  the  green- 
house she  will  break  down  from  overwork." 

Lucy  glanced  at  the  doctor  with  pleading  eyes. 

Something  seemed  to  annoy  him;  he  got  up,  and 
walked  hastily  to  the  window.  Mr.  Gray,  in  pursuit 
of  a  vanishing  squirrel,  caught  his  eye. 

"  Your  cat  has  grown  into  a  very  fine  animal, 
Miss  Deborah,"  he  said. 


240  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  He  is  Lucy's  cat." 

"  Is  he?  You  always  seem  to  have  the  charge  of 
him.  By  the  way,  just  what  is  there  for  Miss  Lucy 
to  do  at  home?" 

"  There  is  always  plenty  of  sewing,"  Miss  Letitia 
replied  a-fter  a  little  pause. 

"  Sewing ! "  the  doctor  gave  a  contemptuous 
grunt.  "  Excellent  work,  that,  for  an  invalid !  " 

"  There  are  all  the  little  feminine  occupations," 
said  Miss  Letitia.  "  It  would  take  too  long  to 
specify  them." 

"  Ladies,"  said  the  doctor  vehemently,  "  I  am  as 
strong  as  the  average  man,  but,  upon  my  word !  if 
I  had  to  stay  cooped  up  in  the  house  and  coddle 
myself  whenever  I  caught  cold,  and  sew  for  hours 
with  nothing  to  occupy  my  mind  except  myself, 
I  should  either  go  raving  crazy,  or  become  a  hypo- 
chondriac. Miss  Lucy,  I  congratulate  you  that  you 
have  escaped.  Congenial  work  is  the  salvation  both 
of  men  and  women.  Go  back  to  the  green-house  to- 
morrow morning.  If  you  break  down  I  will  prom- 
ise to  attend  you  for  nothing." 

To  have  Dr.  Simonds  on  her  side  was  a  triumph 
for  Lucy  Wyatt.  When  he  went  home  to  dinner 
that  morning  he  said  to  his  wife,  "  Clara,  wouldn't 
you  like  a  few  plants?  roses,  carnations,  lilies-of- 
rhe- valley  and  that  sort  of  thing?  " 


A  Struggle  for  Independence         241 

"  Lilies-of-the-valley  in  November?  They  would 
cost  a  small  fortune.  Andrew,  have  you  gone 
crazy?  " 

"  Frances  will  get  them  for  me  if  you  object,"  he 
said,  tossing  a  five-dollar  bill  across  the  table  to 
his  daughter. 

"  But,  Andrew,  we  can't  spare  the  money.  If  you 
are  so  flush  as  all  that  I  should  like  some  new  dotted 
muslin  curtains  in  the  spare-room,  and  you  need  a 
new  hearth-rug  in  your  office.  You  remember  you 
let  the  sparks  burn  a  hole  in  the  one  you  have  now ; 
and  we  need  two  new  hearth-brushes." 

"  I  know  what  he  wants,  mother.  He  wants  to 
help  along  Miss  Lucy  Wyatt." 

"  Charity  begins  at  home,"  Mrs.  Simonds  quoted 
plaintively.  "  You  never  did  care  how  the  house 
looked,  Andrew,  but  you  are  fond  of  Frances,  and 
she  needs  a  new  hat.  The  one  she  is  wearing  is 
very  shabby." 

"  Mother,  I  should  be  glad  to  wear  my  old  hat 
three  more  winters  if  in  that  way  I  could  make  Miss 
Lucy's  experiment  a  success.  It  isn't  only  Miss 
Lucy,  it  is  the  principle  father  and  I  care  about.  If 
she  succeeds  it  will  make  it  easier  for  all  the  rest 
of  us." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  dangerous  thing,"  said  Mrs. 
Simonds,  conservatively,  "  if  all  of  us  women  were 


16 


242  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

to  rush  into  outside  work,  where  would  you  men 
be?" 

The  doctor  was  about  to  speak,  but  checked  him- 
self. When  one  saw  him  in  his  own  house  .it  was 
easy  to  see  why  he  had  acquired  the  habit  of  silence. 

It  was  not  only  Dr.  Simonds  who  took  Lucy's 
side,  but  also  the  minister  and  his  wife.  Mrs. 
Lutterworth,  whose  caustic  tongue  was  dreaded 
throughout  the  parish,  surprised  the  entire  sewing- 
circle  by  standing  up  for  Lucy  Wyatt,  and  in  the 
end,  after  a  lively  discussion,  all  the  ladies  followed 
her  lead  like  a  flock  of  submissive  sheep. 

Men,  women  and  children  went  to  Mrs.  Tucker's 
green-house,  partly  from  curiosity,  partly  from  real 
kindness  of  feeling,  and  for  a  few  weeks  potted 
plants  and  cut-flowers  were  ordered  so  lavishly 
that  Mrs.  Tucker's  slender  stock  was  well-nigh  de- 
pleted. 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  was  such  a  belle,  Lucy,"  she 
informed  her  assistant. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  good,  kind  people  in 
the  world,"  said  Lucy, ,  "  but  it  won't  last  long. 
Very  soon  they  will  get  used  to  my  being  here,  and 
forget  about  me,  and  everything  will  be  as  usual." 

"  And  then  you'll  get  kind  o'  discouraged,  and 
want  to  leave  me." 

"Leave  you?"  said  Lucy.  Her  eyes  were  elo- 
quent. "  Leave  the  place  where  I  am  so  happy ! 


A  Struggle  for  Independence         243 

Why,  I  love  every  flower  in  the  green-house.  If 
business  falls  off  so  you  can't  afford  to  pay  me,  I 
should  be  glad  to  stay  on  and  pay  you  for  keeping 
me." 

When  Lucy  gave  her  sister  Deborah  the  first 
money  she  had  ever  earned  it  was  a  proud  moment. 

Deborah  took  the  crisp  bills  and  smoothed  them 
out  gently.  A  mist  came  over  her  eyes.  "  Lucy, 
dear,  you  mustn't  do  it,"  she  insisted.  "  You  must 
keep  all  the  money  for  your  visit  to  Josephine.  To 
think  how  I  hectored  and  tormented  you  and  tried 
to  keep  you  from  going  into  the  green-house!  And 
this  is  my  reward !  No,  Lucy  Wyatt,  I  can't  take 
it!" 

"  Dear,"  said  Lucy  gently,  "  where  should  I  be 
without  you?  I  love  you  better  than  anyone  in 
the  world." 

Mr.  Gray,  jealous  because  the  two  were  absorbed 
in  each  other,  made  a  spring  and  settled  himself  in 
Miss  Deborah's  lap.  Lucy  no  longer  minded  his  be- 
ing more  fond  of  her  sister  than  he  was  of  her.  Her 
life  was  so  full  now  that  her  old  grievances  seemed 
childish,  and  she  could  well  afford  to  take  the  second 
place. 

"  Your  cat  is  looking  unusually  handsome  to- 
day," said  Miss  Deborah  generously. 

"  I  was  just  thinking  how  handsome  your  cat 
looked."  Lucy  returned  with  a  smile. 


244  John  Forsyth  s  Aunts 

Lucy  handed  the  crisp  bills  back  to  her  sister. 
"  You  must  keep  the  money,"  she  said.  "  It  is  our 
money.  Everything  I  have  belongs  just  as  much  to 
you  and  Letitia." 


A  TASTE   OF   FREEDOM 


XI 

A  TASTE  OF  FREEDOM 

SOME  of  Lucy  Wyatt's  friends  predicted  that 
she  would  tire  of  her  occupation  in  the  green- 
house as  soon  as  the  novelty  was  gone,  while 
others  believed  that  she  would  break  down  under 
the  unaccustomed  strain;  it  was  so  seldom  that  a 
woman  succeeded  who  started  on  a  new  enterprise 
when  she  was  past  forty ;  but  Lucy's  case  proved  an 
exception.  She  flung  herself  into  her  work  with  the 
same  enthusiasm  with  which  she  had  given  her 
heart  to  Josephine,  and  now  that  she  had  this  double 
interest,  life,  which  had  so  long  been  colorless  and 
negative,  grew  absorbing.  There  was  the  constant 
expectation  of  receiving  one  of  Josephine's  racy 
letters,  that  were  like  a  serial  story,  and  only  second 
in  importance  were  the  daily  events  in  the  green- 
house. There  were  always  buds  to  watch  unfold, 
tiny  green  buds  that  at  first  seemed  so  frail  as  hardly 
to  justify  hope,  but  that  developed  into  fragrant 
roses,  soft-hued  orchids,  or  fifty  other  delightful 

247 


248  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

things.  The  roses  were  Lucy's  favorites ;  she 
watched  every  stage  of  their  progress,  and  when 
the  petals  fell  she  gathered  them  up  tenderly  and 
put  them  in  a  rose- jar,  grateful  for  the  fact  that 
there  were  new  buds  to  succeed  the  old  blossoms. 
It  was  the  law  of  the  world,  she  told  herself ;  men, 
like  the  flowers,  were  born,  grew  old,  and. died,  and 
others  came  after  them,  but  if  they  lived  a  true  life 
there  was  always  the  beauty  to  remember.  Now 
that  she  was  happier  herself,  it  was  easier  to  believe 
in  the  justness  of  the  laws. 

On  the  rare  intervals  when  Lucy  received  a  let- 
ter from  Josephine  Letitia  would  ask  if  she  said  any- 
thing about  the  Boston  visit. 

"  Not  yet,"  Lucy  had  to  own. 

Finally  Letitia  said,  "  Lucy,  it  is  the  middle  of 
February,  and  you  may  as  well  give  up  the  idea 
of  your  visit.  Miss  Mason  forgets  her  friends  the 
moment  they  are  out  of  sight.  I  knew  it  from  the 
beginning.  The  very  first  time  I  saw  Josephine 
Mason  I  thought  her  charming,  but  volatile." 

"  Letitia,"  said  Lucy,  with  the  slowly  gathered 
courage  of  the  last  few  months,  "  Josephine  is  my 
friend  and  I  love  her.  If  she  never  asks  me  to  go 
to  Boston  I  shall  love  her  just  as  much." 

Letitia  could  not  but  admire  Lucy's  loyalty,  and 
to  tell  the  whole  truth  she  found  her  more  interest- 
ing when  she  asserted  herself. 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  249 

The  first  week  in  March  the  invitation  came  that 
put  Lucy  Wyatt  in  a  fever  of  excitement,  which  all 
her  friends  shared  in  a  lesser  degree.  Mrs.  Tucker's 
daughter  offered  to  come  home  and  help  her  mother 
the  fortnight  Lucy  was  away,  so  that  the  chief  lion 
in  her  path  was  promptly  slain. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  can't  meet  you,"  Josephine  wrote, 
"  as  I  have  a  music  lesson  to  give  at  the  hour  you 
arrive,  but  you  won't  have  any  trouble,  for  you  can 
take  a  subway  car  at  the  Union  Station  to  Park 
Street,  and  walk  over  the  hill  to  Chestnut  Street,  or 
if  you  prefer  you  can  take  a  carriage." 

"  I  must  say  Josephine  is  most  inconsiderate," 
Miss  Letitia  said,  when  she  read  this  note  which 
Lucy  relinquished  very  unwillingly.  "  My  dear, 
you  haven't  been  in  Boston  for  years.  You  will  be 
sure  to  lose  your  way  if  you  take  the  electric  cars. 
I  positively  forbid  it." 

"  It  is  much  safer  to  go  with  the  public  than  to 
take  a  carriage,"  protested  Miss  Deborah.  "  Heav- 
en only  knows  where  the  driver  would  land  the 
child." 

"  I  am  a  woman  grown,"  Lucy  reminded  them 
gently.  "  I  have  a  map  of  Boston,  and  also  the 
power  of  speech." 

"  I  want  you  to  promise  me  to  be  very  careful  to 
wear  enough  wraps,"  said  Miss  Letitia.  "  An  east 
wind  may  come  up  at  any  moment  in  Boston.  You 


250  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

must  not  leave  off  your  furs,  no  matter  how  mild 
it  is." 

"  Do  go  to  see  Bunker  Hill,"  urged  Miss  Deborah. 

The  Lutterworths  and  Mrs.  Simonds  came  to  call 
the  evening  before  Lucy's  departure.  Mrs.  Si- 
monds said  she  must  be  sure  to  call  on  Frances  at 
the  hospital,  and  she  gave  Lucy  several  errands  to 
do.  "  Frances  is  so  busy  I  don't  like  to  ask  her," 
she  stated,  "  and  then  she  isn't  a  born  shopper,  as 
you  are." 

Mr.  Lutterworth  told  Lucy  she  must  see  the 
Fogg  Museum  in  Cambridge  and  the  Natural  His- 
tory rooms  in  Boston,  while  Mrs.  Lutterworth  said 
she  must  make  Miss  Mason  take  her  to  Keith's  and 
the  Castle  Square  Theatre.  Indeed,  if  Lucy  had 
done  half  her  kind  friends  planned,  the  fortnight 
would  have  stretched  itself  into  two  months. 

At  last  the  moment  for  leaving  home  came,  the 
flurry  of  packing  was  over,  a  feat  that  was  rendered 
difficult  owing  to  the  contradictory  advice  Lucy  re- 
ceived from  her  sisters,  and  she  was  actually  in  the 
Boston  train. 

"  Be  sure  you  don't  lose  your  ticket,"  was  Miss 
Deborah's  parting  injunction,  while  Miss  Letitia 
added,  "  Be  careful  in  the  subway,  or  you  will  get 
knocked  down." 

Lucy  had  not  dared  to  own  to  her  sisters  how 
little  courage  she  had,  but  the  dread  of  her  solitary 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  251 

transit  through  Boston  kept  her  happy  anticipations 
of  her  visit  in  abeyance.  When  she  reached  the 
Union  Station  the  noise  was  deafening,  and  the  mad 
succession  of  electric  cars  was  so  bewildering-  that 
she  chose  the  more  peaceful  alternative  of  taking  a 
carriage. 

Upon  arriving  at  Josephine's  boarding-house 
Lucy  explained  to  the  maid  who  she  was,  and  said 
she  would  like  to  go  to  her  room  to  wait  until  Miss 
Mason  came. 

The  girl  led  the  way  indifferently  up  three  long 
flights  of  stairs.  She  had  possessed  herself  of 
Lucy's  handbag,  and  the  driver  followed  with  her 
trunk.  The  room  was  very  small.'  There  was  no 
water  in  the  bowl  and  pitcher,  and  there  were  no 
towels  on  the  rack,  while  a  heap  of  rubbish  on  the 
floor  indicated  that  the  last  occupant  had  but  re- 
cently departed. 

"  Can  I  have  some  water?  "  Lucy  asked  timidly. 

"  Yes'm.  I  didn't  know  you  were  coming  so 
early.  Miss  Mason  didn't  say  when  she  expected 
you,  and  it  is  the  chambermaid's  afternoon  out." 

"  When  does  Miss  Mason  usually  get  home?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  There's  so  many  coming  and 
going  I  can't  keep  track  of  them  all.  She'll  be  sure 
to  be  in  by  dinner-time  at  half-past  six." 

It  was  only  half-past  four  now,  and  Lucy's  heart 
sank.  The  maid's  indifference  to  the  exits  and 


252  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

entrances  of  human  beings  struck  a  chill  to  the 
heart  of  the  village-bred  woman.  In  Eppingham, 
if  she  merely  left  home  for  an  hour  there  were 
half  a  dozen  people  to  whom  the  fact  was  of  import- 
ance. Lucy  had  never  felt  so  lonely  in  her  whole 
life. 

The  maid  cleared  away  the  rubbish,  and  she  pres- 
ently returned  with  the  pitcher  filled  with  cold  water. 
Lucy  had  not  dared  to  ask  for  hot  water.  As  the 
servant  opened  the  door  a  gaunt  maltese  cat  darted 
in  ahead  of  her.  This  forlorn  creature  brought  a 
ray  of  comfort  with  him. 

"  Pussy,  dear  pussy,"  Lucy  said.  "  Come  and  see 
me.  I  have  a  cat  at  home.  What  is  his  name?  " 

"  He  hasn't  got  any  that  I  know  of.  He's  a  tramp 
cat  that  is  always  coming  and  begging  for  food. 
Scat !  We  don't  want  you  round  here." 

With  the  departure  of  the  maid  and  the  cat,  Lucy 
felt  as  if  her  last  tie  to  the  world  had  gone.  She 
unpacked  her  trunk  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  She 
would  have  given  worlds  to  be  back  in  dear  Epping- 
ham, sitting  in  the  cozy  parlor  with  Letitia  and  Deb- 
orah, receiving  afternoon  callers  with  Mr.  Gray 
curled  up  in  her  lap.  Dear  Mr.  Gray,  what  a  pleas- 
ure it  would  be  to  see  him !  In  this  lonely  city  the 
very  cats  were  unfriended.  She  was  in  a  mood  to 
bear  cheerfully  even  the  irritating  advice  of  her 
sisters.  There  were  some  things  in  life  sweeter  than 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  253 

independence.  If  Josephine  had  come  to  Epping- 
ham,  how  eagerly  she  would  have  welcomed  her! 
She  would  have  put  a  bunch  of  red  roses  on  her 
dressing-table  at  Mrs.  Newhall's,  and  she  would 
have  met  her  at  the  train  no  matter  what  she  had  to 
give  up.  Not  that  she  found  fault  with  Josephine; 
she  could  not  put  off  her  music  scholar ;  city  customs 
were  different — she  merely  blamed  this  great  un- 
friendly Boston,  with  its  lonely  crowds  of  hurrying 
people. 

"  Well,  Lucy,"  said  Josephine,  coming  hastily  in 
at  the  partly  open  door,  "  I  am  sorry  to  be  so  late. 
You  poor  dear,  I  told  Jenny  to  show  you  right  to 
my  room,  but  of  course  it  was  her  afternoon  out, 
and  equally,  of  course,  she  forgot  to  mention  the 
fact  that  you  were  coming,  to  Kate.  How  well  you 
are  looking !  My  dear,  you  look  ten  years  younger. 
I  like  you  in  dark  green.  I  thought  I  should  get 
here  soon  after  you  did,  but  I  was  detained  by  meet- 
ing an  old  friend.  I  am  sorry  you  have  to  be  in  this 
tiny  room,  but  it  is  the  only  one  that  is  vacant." 

Josephine  had  seated  herself  on  the  edge  of  the 
bed ;  there  was  but  one  chair,  and  Lucy  was  gazing 
with  hungry  eyes  at  her  friend's  animated  face  and 
brilliant  color.  She  made  up  her  mind  that  a  fluffy 
fur  boa  and  a  black  velvet  hat  with  ostrich  plumes 
made  the  most  effective  frame  she  had  yet  seen  for 
the  lovely  face. 


254  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  I  have  planned  all  sorts  of  delightful  things  to 
do  with  you  evenings,"  Josephine  stated.  "  I  only 
wish  these  old  lessons  didn't  keep  me  so  busy  day- 
times. Somebody  has  given  me  two  tickets  for  the 
Symphony  concert  to-night." 

Lucy  tried  not  to  show  how  tired  she  felt.  The 
concert  would  be  a  great  pleasure,  but  she  wished  it 
had  come  an  evening  or  two  later.  As  soon  as  she 
went  down  into  Josephine's  room,  however,  she 
forgot  her  fatigue  and  her  homesickness  vanished. 
Lucy  had  again  opened  the  volume  containing  her 
serial  story  and  was  once  more  in  the  enchanted  at- 
mosphere that  had  delighted  her  at  Mrs.  Newhall's. 
The  same  spirited  sketches  looked  down  at  her  from 
the  walls,  while  the  oriental  rugs  and  hangings  gave 
a  touch  of  the  Arabian  Nights  to  the  room ;  and  best 
of  all,  there  was  Josephine's  grand  piano,  silent  now, 
but  ready  to  wake  into  life  at  the  touch  of  Jose- 
phine's hands.  Lucy  sat  down  on  the  window-seat, 
and  was  lost  in  happy  thoughts  as  she  looked  across 
the  house-tops  to  the  Charles  River  glimmering  in 
the  distance.  As  twilight  came,  the  lights  sprang 
out  one  by  one,  until  myriads  of  shining  points  suc- 
ceeded the  sunset  glow.  Lucy  was  absorbed  by  the 
thought  of  the  rush  and  tumult  of  this  large  city. 
In  Eppingham  every  light'  stood  for  some  well- 
known  household;  here  sjie  was  a  stranger  in  a 
strange  land;  a  stranger,  but  no  longer  unhappy, 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  255 

because  wrapped  around  with  the  light-hearted 
gaiety  of  Josephine's  personality. 

The  first  meal  in  the  boarding-house  was  a  trying 
ordeal  to  the  shy,  country-bred  woman. 

"  Are  there  many  people  here?  "  Lucy  asked  ner- 
vously, as  she  paused  in  a  sudden  panic  before  the 
door  of  the  brilliantly  lighted  dining-room. 

"  No,  only  about  eight  or  ten.  Tiresome  people 
for  the  most  part.  I  don't  trouble  myself  about 
them.  I  talk  a  little  at  meal  times,  because  it  is  so 
stupid  to  be  silent,  but  otherwise  I  leave  them  se- 
verely alone.  I  will  introduce  you,  because  it  is  less 
awkward,  but  you  needn't  feel  obliged  to  talk." 

Lucy  could  not  take  her  social  obligations  in  this 
easy  fashion.  She  had  been  brought  up  to  consider 
conversation  at  meals  obligatory,  and  greatly  to 
Josephine's  surprise,  she  found  her  friend  entering 
into  an  animated  talk  with  Miss  Johnson,  a  gray- 
haired,  shrinking  person  who  sat  next  her  at  table. 
Opposite  them  were  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cumberland. 
Mr.  Cumberland  looked  bored  and  a  trifle  cynical. 
Mrs.  Cumberland  was  vivacious  enough  for  both  of 
them.  She  was  dressed  in  a  low-necked  black  gown 
and  wore  a  string  of  pearls. 

"  Is  it  whist  to-night,  Mrs.  Cumberland  ?  "  Miss 
Johnson  asked,  with  the  hesitating  manner  of  the 
woman  to  whom  conversation  is  a  duty  rather  than 
a  pleasure. 


256  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  Yes,  compass  whist." 

Lucy  glanced  at  Mrs.  Cumberland's  husband  and 
wondered  whether  it  was  the  prospective  whist- 
party  that  gave  him  that  bored  expression.  If  so, 
she  could  sympathize  with  him. 

"Do  you  like  whist,  Mr.  Cumberland?"  she 
asked. 

"  I  ?  Miss  Wyatt,  that  is  a  superfluous  question. 
It  would  not  do  any  good  if  I  did.  I  could  never 
penetrate  the  charmed  circle." 

Lucy  looked  the  surprise  she  felt. 

"  You  see,"  he  went  on,  "  I  have  the  misfortune 
tc  be  handicapped  at  the  outset.  I  belong  to  the 
wrong  sex." 

"  But  I  thought  the  one  advantage  of  whist  was 
that  men  and  women  could  play  it  together." 

"  Miss  Wyatt,  you  have  evidently  not  been  long 
in  this  part  of  the  world,"  he  replied.  "  The  great 
advantage  of  living  in  Boston  is  that  there  is  nothing 
women  cannot  do  better  without  men  than  with 
them." 

"  Miss  Wyatt  will  think  you  are  in  earnest,  Fred," 
Mrs.  Cumberland  said  reproachfully. 

"  Miss  Wyatt  looks  as  if  she  were  an  intelligent 
woman.  I  have  only  to  ask  her  to  notice  the  engage- 
ments you  make  while  she  is  here,  and  let  her  judge 
if  I  am  not  right.  It  is  Symphony  concert  evening. 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  257 

You  could  have  gone  there  with  me,  if  you  had 
chosen." 

"  I  have  only  missed  four  or  five  this  winter,  and 
you  haven't  been  with  me  more  than  twice.  Mr. 
Cumberland  is  not  musical,"  she  confided  to  them. 
"  It  bores  him  so  to  go  to  a  classical  concert  that  I 
always  spare  him,  if  possible.  He  could  have  gone 
to-night,  but  he  wouldn't." 

"  Far  be  it  from  me  to  find  fault  with  Mr.  Cum- 
berland's indifference  to  music,  or  Mrs.  Cumber- 
land's love  of  whist,"  said  Josephine,  "  for  it  is  to 
them  that  my  friend  and  I  owe  the  pleasure  of  go- 
ing to  the  Symphony  concert  this  evening." 

"  My  friend  and  I !  "  How  Lucy's  heart  warmed 
at  the  words. 

"  That  poor  Mr.  Cumberland,"  said  Lucy,  as  she 
and  Josephine  were  starting  for  the  concert.  "  I 
can't  get  his  face  out  of  my  mind.  And  what  is 
the  matter  with  that  blase  young  fellow  on  my  side 
of  the  table?" 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  I  have  never  taken  the 
slightest  interest  in  any  of  them." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Cumberland  go  out  much  without 
her  husband  ?  " 

"  Of  course  she  does.  They  care  for  such  differ- 
ent things." 

"  I  don't  see  what  she  married  him  for,  then." 

"  You  will  wonder  a  great  deal  more  what  he 
17 


258  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

married  her  for,  before  you  get  through  with  them, 
but  they  seem  to  be  happy  enough  as  married  .people 
go.  It  is  only  their  way  of  talking." 

"  But  they  can't  really  enjoy  each  other  if  they 
prefer  to  spend  all  their  time  apart,"  Lucy  persisted. 

"  My  dear,  just  think  what  a  bore  it  must  be  to 
be  tied  down  to  one  person  continually.  If  I  had  a 
husband  I  am  sure  I  should  be  thankful  to  have  my 
evenings  out." 

"  You  know  you  don't  mean  that,  Josephine.  If 
I  had  a  husband  I  should  spend  every  single  even- 
ing with  him." 

"  I  haven't  the  slightest  doubt  of  that.  You 
would  be  a  household  drudge  if  you  had  a  husband. 
I  am  very  glad  you  haven't  one.  I  like  you  a  great 
deal  better  as  you  are.  If  you  had  a  husband  you 
never  would  have  left  him  to  make  me  a  visit." 

"  I  like  that  little  Miss  Johnson,"  Lucy  said, 
"  although  she  looks  as  if  she  had  been  starved 
in  her  heart,  poor  thing.  She  has  asked  me  to  go 
with  her  to  the  Art  Museum  and  Public  Library 
to-morrow  morning." 

"  Really  ?  She  is  a  mouse-like  person  generally. 
I  never  heard  her  say  so  much  as  she  did  to-night. 
You  quite  waked  her  up.  If  you  find  these  people 
interesting,  I  don't  know  what  you  will  say  when 
you  see  my  friends." 

They   reached   Symphony   Hall   a   few   minutes 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  259 

later,  and  Lucy's  eyes  were  dazzled  by  the  glare  of 
lights  and  the  flash  of  brilliant  colors.  The  cool 
white  corridors  and  the  pale  cream-colored  and 
gray  walls  with  the  line  of  red  around  the  edge  of 
the  balconies,  made  a  harmonious  background  for 
the  gaily-dressed  crowds.  Lucy  felt  as  if  she  were 
in  a  huge  green-house  full  of  living  flowers.  Red 
and  different  shades  of  lilac  predominated,  and  she 
thought  of  scarlet  geraniums  and  orchids.  When 
the  music  began  she  was  spell-bound.  It  was  a  con- 
cert to  remember  all  her  life.  To  hear  Schubert's 
Symphony  in  C  played  by  that  great  orchestra  was 
an  experience  that  was  better  than  anything  she 
had  hoped  for  in  this  world. 

"  How  could  Mrs.  Cumberland  give  up  such  a 
concert  for  whist?"  she  murmured  in  a  pause  be- 
tween two  movements. 

"  My  dear,  she  has  heard  this  Symphony  until 
she  is  tired  of  it." 

Mr.  Cumberland  was  in  the  parlor  waiting  for 
his  wife  when  they  reached  home.  He  came  out 
into  the  entry  to  speak  to  them.  "  Well,  what  did 
you  think  of  Symphony  Hall?"  he  asked  Lucy. 

"  I  liked  it  extremelv,  and  the  music  was  more 
wonderful  than  anything  I  ever  heard." 

"  Isn't  she  a  satisfactory  friend  to  have?  "  Jose- 
phine asked,  and  again  Lucy  had  that  warm  feel- 
ing at  the  heart. 


260  John   Forsyth's  Aunts 

"  You  really  seem  to  enjoy  things,"  Mr.  Cumber- 
land said. 

"  How  could  any  one  help  it  ?  I  was  only  sorry 
you  and  Mrs.  Cumberland  lost  the  pleasure." 

"  You  needn't  worry  about  us.  So  you  liked 
Symphony  Hall,  and  the  organ  did  not  make  you 
think  of  an  overgrown  radiator?" 

"  I  thought  it  very  beautiful." 

In  the  days  to  come  Lucy  had  the  intoxicating 
feeling  that  comes  from  being  a  social  success. 
Why  every  one  was  kind  to  her  she  failed  to  see. 
She  was  not  very  young,  she  was  no  longer  pretty, 
and  neither  was  she  clever,  but  the  inexplicably  de- 
lightful fact  remained  that  everybody  seemed  to  like 
her. 

"  Miss  Wyatt  is  as  refreshing  as  a  breath  of 
country  air,"  Mr.  Cumberland  observed  to  Jose- 
phine, while  his  wife  added  that  she  was  a  sweet, 
sympathetic  woman,  and  even  the  blase  young  man 
spoke  of  her  as  a  "  nice  sort."  Josephine  rq^eated 
every  compliment  to  her  visitor,  sure  that  she  had 
never  suffered  from  over-praise.  Miss  Johnson, 
Lucy's  gentle-faced  neighbor  at  table,  became  her 
warm  friend  before  the  fortnight  was  over.  The 
others  confined  their  interest  in  her  to  telling  her 
what  she  ought  to  see,  while  Miss  Johnson  helped 
her  carry  out  their  suggestions,  and  took  excursions 
with  her  when  Josephine  was  busy  with  her  music 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  261 

scholars.  Lucy  even  went  so  far  as  to  go  up  Bunker 
Hill  monument,  feeling  as  if  this  were  a  duty  she 
owed  to  Deborah,  while  she  visited  the  Fogg  Mu- 
seum in  Cambridge  out  of  consideration  for  Mr. 
Lutterworth.  She  hoped  he  would  not  be  too  much 
disappointed  that  she  did  not  go  to  the  Natural  His- 
tory rooms,  but  she  had  to  leave  out  something. 

"  I  never  saw  your  equal,  Lucy  Wyatt,"  Josephine 
remarked  one  evening.  "  You  will  wear  yourself 
out  trying  to  please  everybody.  You've  seen  Bunker 
Hill,  Faneuil  Hall,  the  Art  Museum,  the  Public 
Library,  the  Old  South,  Christ  Church,  all  the  bury- 
ing grounds  in  Boston,  to  say  nothing  of  the  whole 
of  Cambridge,  and  Frances  Simonds's  hospital.  It 
is  lucky  for  you  that  I  am  frivolous,  so  you  have 
some  let-up  evenings." 

It  was  those  evenings  that  were  the  delight  of 
Lucy's  visit.  She  had  them  to  look  forward  to  dur- 
ing the  long  day  when  Josephine  was  busy,  for,  in 
spite  of  Lucy's  indefatigable  sight-seeing,  she  had 
periods  of  being  homesick  when  her  friend  was 
, occupied  with  her  pupils. 

The  crowning  joy  of  all  came  at  the  close  of 
Lucy's  stay  in  Boston,  when  she  heard  Tannhauser 
with  Ternina  as  Elizabeth.  She  had  been  to  the 
opera  only  a  few  times  in  her  life,  and  the  prospect 
was  exciting.  Frances  Simonds  was  to  meet  them 
at  the  Boston  Theatre.  She  was  enjoying  her  work, 


262  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

but  Lucy  had  the  feeling  that  some  of  her  illusions 
concerning  life  were  gone.  Frances  was  looking 
unusually  well.  Josephine  had  taken  her  cousin's 
clothes  in  hand,  and  the  pale-lilac  waist  that  she 
was  wearing  this  evening  was  extremely  be- 
coming. 

Lucy  was  intensely  interested  from  the  moment 
the  curtain  rose  on  the  hill  of  Venus  to  the  end  of 
the  opera.  In  spite  of  the  sirens  and  nymphs,  it 
was  so  wonderfully  true  to  life.  It  was  the  old 
struggle  between  good  and  evil,  the  struggle  as  old 
as  human  souls  themselves,  and  as  true  now  as  in 
the  earliest  ages.  The  pity  of  it  struck  her  afresh. 
Alas !  that  no  one  ever  learned  from  the  experience 
of  another,  that  every  human  soul  must  make  a 
solitary  journey  through  the  world  and  fight  with 
the  evil  powers  alone !  She  thought  of  Alec,  and  of 
his  struggle,  and  that  soft,  seductive  music  helped 
her  to  understand  as  she  had  never  understood  be- 
fore the  insidiousness  of  the  temptations  to  yield  to 
the  lower  nature. 

They  were  in  the  family  circle,  and  after  the  first 
act  was  over  they  went  out  into  the  corridor  to  get 
the  air. 

"Isn't  the  music  wonderful?"  Lucy  asked 
Frances. 

"  I  liked  parts  of  it,  but  those  nymphs  looked  too 
tailor-made." 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  263 

As  the  opera  went  on,  however,  even  Frances  was 
thrilled  and  stirred,  while  Lucy  was  completely  car- 
ried out  of  herself  by  Ternina's  voice.  Ah,  if  she 
herself  had  only  been  as  strong  as  this  wonderful 
Elizabeth,  the  sequel  of  Alec's  history  might 
have  been  different.  But  she  had  failed  him 
instead  of  trying  to  help  him.  He  had  de- 
served friendship  and  loyalty  at  her  hands,  and 
she  had  let  her  own  miserable  pride  stand  in 
the  way.  How  small  such  human  distinctions 
looked  in  the  face  of  death,  or  when  one  heard  the 
interpretation  of  life  that  this  marvelous  opera  gave! 
It  was  a  comfort  to  Lucy  when  she  thought  of  Alec 
to  feel  that  the  sin  was  on  her  side  as  well  as  his. 
•  Was  Frances  thinking  of  Mark  Henderson?  Did 
she,  too,  feel  herself  an  Elizabeth  with  the  fate 
of  a  human  soul  in  her  hands  ?  Frances  was  watch- 
ing the  stage  intently,  but  was  she  one  who  could 
ever  learn  through  the  imagination? 

At  the  end  of  the  second  act,  almost  as  if  in  re- 
sponse to  Lucy's  thoughts,  Josephine  said,  "  Why, 
there  is  Mr.  Henderson,  in  the  first  gallery  at  the 
left,  with  the  Barrets." 

If  Frances  felt  any  excitement  she  did  not  show 
it.  Lucy  was  the  one  who  colored  and  seemed 
embarrassed.  She  looked  in  his  direction,  half  apol- 
ogetically, and  saw  him  talking  to  a  young-  and 
pretty  girl.  An  elderly  woman,  who  looked  as  if 


264  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

she  might  have  been  pretty  once  in  an  ineffective 
way,  sat  with  them. 

Lucy  did  not  know  how  the  opera  was  going  to 
end,  and  in  the  last  act  she  fairly  caught  her  breath. 
Was  the  evil  in  Tannhauser  going  to  triumph  over 
the  good  after  all  ?  She  felt  she  could  not  bear  that. 
No,  the  good  would  prevail  at  last.  The  Pilgrims' 
chorus  thrilled  her  through  and  through  and  seemed 
an  epitome  of  the  glorious  possibilities  in  life.  It 
was  only  when  Tannhauser  was  saved  after  Eliza- 
beth's death  that  she  remembered  to  turn  to  her  com- 
panions. 

"  There  is  no  need  to  ask  if  you  enjoyed  the 
opera,  Lucy,"  Josephine  said. 

But  enjoyment  was  hardly  the  right  term  for  the 
fever  of  excitement  in  which  Lucy  had  spent  the 
evening.  It  was  as  if  -there  had  been  crowded  into 
that  brief  space  a  complete  revelation  of  life  and 
human  nature,  its  baseness  and  sin,  together  with 
its  wonderful  power  of  rising  to  a  nobler  level. 

As  they  were  going  out  of  the  lower  hall  they 
met  Mark  Henderson.  He  and  his  friends  were 
lingering  to  look  at  a  photograph  of  Melba.  Lucy 
would  have  passed  him  by,  but  Josephine  stopped 
to  speak  to  the  group. 

"  Wasn't  the  opera  great?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes." 
',     He  turned  and  saw  the  other  two.     When  his 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  265 

eyes  rested  on  Frances  his  sensitive  face  changed. 
Lucy  glanced  furtively  from  one  girl  to  the  other. 
Miss  Barrett  was  exceedingly  pretty,  but  Lucy 
thought  she  looked  as  characterless  as  a  rose 
without  fragrance.  Frances,  on  the  other  hand, 
suggested  to  her  a  purple  thistle.  She  was  plain, 
but  there  was  something  infinitely  satisfactory 
in  her  clear-cut,  irregular  features,  and  the  flash  of 
her  gray  eyes.  Life  would  not  be  wholly  smooth 
with  her  for  a  companion,  but  it  would  never  be 
dull ;  there  would  be  constant  surprises  full  of 
piquant  interest. 

"Did  you  enjoy  the  opera,  Miss  Barrett?" 
Josephine  inquired,  at  the  same  moment  that  Mr. 
Henderson  was  asking  Frances  a  similar  question. 

"  I  thought  It  lovely,  splendid,"  Miss  Barrett  re- 
plied with  enthusiasm. 

"  I  liked  it,"  said  Frances,  impartially,  "  but  Wag- 
ner and  I  are  not  entirely  congenial.  This  is  the 
third  opera  of  his  I  have  heard.  They  make  me 
think  of  life  in  a  country  town.  There  is  so  much 
that  is  monotonous,  and  then  once  in  a  while  there 
are  glorious  half  hours." 

"  That  idea  of  life  does  not  apply  only  to  a 
country  town,"  Mark  said. 

He  looked  tired  and  listless.  Lucy  was  sure  he 
was  living  in  an  unsatisfactory  tract  of  country  at 
present.  Had  she  been  Frances,  she  would,  on  the 


266  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

spot,  have  given  up  all  thoughts  of  finishing  her 
hospital  course,  and  would  have  said  some  little 
thing  to  make  him  feel  that  the  glorious  half  hours 
might  come  again,  but  Frances  was  always  herself, 
and  instead  of  striking  the  personal  note,  she  said 
it  was  a  pity  prima  donnas  were  invariably  so  stout, 
and  then  turned  to  join  Lucy.  Josephine  had 
walked  on  ahead  with  Mrs.  Barrett. 

"  I  don't  see  what  you  mean  by  calling  that 
opera  monotonous,"  Lucy  said  to  Frances.  "  To 
me  it  was  intense  from  beginning  to  end." 

"  You  are  more  musical  than  I  am,  and  you  de- 
mand less.  Just  the  unfolding  of  buds  in  a  green- 
house is  an  event  to  you.  You  must  remember  I 
am  fresh  from  a  great  hospital  where  I  have 

learned ",  she  paused, — "  that  opera,  the  most 

thrilling  parts  of  it,  seem  tame  compared  with  the 
horrors  of  real  life." 

"Do  you  ever  wish  you  hadn't  gone  there?" 
Lucy  asked  impulsively. 

"  Never.  I  am  sometimes  cowardly  enough  to 
wish  I  hadn't  been  made  so  I  wanted  to  go,  but  if 
there  is  so  much  more  sin  and  sorrow  in  life  than  I 
supposed,  then  there  is  all  the  more  need  of  what  I 
can  do  to  help." 

There  was  a  long  pause.  Then  Lucy  said,  "  Mr. 
Henderson  did  not  look  happy  to-night.  Oh, 
Frances,  dear,  how  I  wish  you  could  find  it  in  your 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  267 

heart  to  be  good  to  him.  If  there  were  more  hap- 
piness in  the  world,  there  would  be  less  evil." 

"  That  was  a  pretty  girl  who  was  with  him," 
Frances  returned,  with  an  assumed  indifference, 
"  she  looked  good  as  gold." 

"  Yes,  but  as  insipid  as  sugar  and  water/' 

Lucy's  visit  was  at  an  end,  and  every  one  in  the 
boarding-house  was  sorry  to  have  her  go.  Poor 
Miss  Johnson  was  in  tears  as  she  bade  her  good-by. 

"  My  dear,"  she  said  "  you  have  brought  great 
brightness  into  the  life  of  a  dull  old  woman.  When 
I  think  of  all  we  have  seen  together,  and  of  your 
sunny  young  face  and  power  of  enjoyment  I  am  very 
thankful  to  have  known  you.  Would  it  be  too  much 
to  ask  you  to  spare  a  few  minutes  from  your  full 
life  now  and  then  to  write  to  me  ?  " 

And  Lucy,  remembering  how  carelessly  Jose- 
phine had  once  answered  a  similar  question,  replied 
with  warmth,  "  Dear  Miss  Johnson,  of  course  I  will 
write  to  you.  It  is  such  a  pleasure  to  have  made  a 
new  friend." 

It  seemed  hard  to  Lucy  that  she  should  love  Jose- 
phine with  a  wealth  of  passionate  affection,  only  to 
receive  a"  small  portion  of  regard  in  return,  and  that 
she  could  not  give  as  much  love  to  Miss  Johnson 
as  that  dear  friend  was  bestowing  on  her,  but  the 
fact  that  she  too,  on  her  side>  could  inspire  a  deep 


268  John  Forsyth's  Aunts 

love  was  so  novel  as  to  be  strangely  comforting. 
She  was  determined  never  by  word  or  deed  to  fail 
in  doing  her  duty  by  her  new  friend.  Yes,  life  was 
good,  far  better  than  she  had  supposed  it  could  be 
in  the  old  days ;  it  was  stimulating  and  exciting,  this 
life  in  the  great  city,  but  she  would  not  like  it  as 
a  constancy.  At  the  end  of  the  fortnight  she  was 
glad  to  go  back  to  peaceful  Eppingham,  and  have 
time  to  think  it  all  over. 

The  Cumberlands  seemed  very  sorry  to  say  good- 
by  to  Lucy.  They  interested  her  deeply  and  she 
felt  profound  sympathy  for  them.  She  had  never 
seen  two  people  who  seemed  less  congenial.  They 
had  been  in  love  with  each  other  once,  she  was  sure 
of  that  from  something  Mrs.  Cumberland  said  to  her 
one  day,  but  they  had  been  profoundly  disillusioned. 
Was  there  no  one  who  found  real  happiness  ?  Lucy 
thought  of  John  and  Esther,  and  their  contentment 
with  life  and  each  other  warmed  her  to  the  heart's 
core.  Yes,  there  were  a  few  happy  people  who  kept 
alive  one's  faith  in  the  best  things,  and  if,  on  every 
side,  there  were  men  and  women  who  had  failed, 
there  was  always  the  wider  vision  of  life,  that  she 
had  found,  opening  out  for  them  if  they  would  but 
see  it,  for  it  was  good  to  live  in  spite  of  sorrow, 
pain,  and  disappointment,  since  there  were  love  and 
friendship  in  the  world.  She  no  longer  felt  a  sense 
of  bitterness  because  she  had  missed  the  best  in  life; 


A  Taste  of  Freedom  269 

it  was  so  much  to  have  escaped  the  worst. 

It  was  a  cold,  crisp  night  when  Lucy  reached 
home,  but  a  flaming  sunset  gave  a  look  of  warmth 
and  cheer  to  the  snowy  roads,  for  although  it  was 
early  spring  in  Boston,  it  was  still  winter  in  Epping- 
ham.  The  very  air  breathed  of  purity.  It  had 
been  good  to  go  away,  but  it  was  better  still  to  come 
back,  and  it  was  best  of  all  to  be  greeted  by  Deb- 
orah's tempestuous  embrace  at  the  station,  and 
Letitia's  quiet  kiss  when  she  reached  home.  They 
were  so  glad  to  see  her !  Even  Mr.  Gray  shared  in 
the  general  demonstration,  and  rubbed  himself  lov- 
ingly against  her  feet. 

There  was  a  fire  on  the  hearth  in  Lucy's  bedroom, 
and  there  was  warm  water  in  her  pitcher,  and  a 
great  bunch  of  pink  carnations  on  her  dressing-table. 
It  was  very  sweet  to  Lucy  to  be  wrapped  about  with 
all  these  signs  of  love,  and  she  turned  and  kissed 
Deborah  anew  as  she  said,  "  Oh,  it  is  so  good  to 
get  home." 

"  You  were  exceeding!  v  faithful  about  writing," 
said  Letitia.  "  I  am  glad  you  saw  so  much." 

"  We  have  felt  so  old  and  dull  without  you,  dear," 
said  Deborah.  "  I  don't  believe  you  half  realize  the 
freshness  your  young  life  brings  into  the  house.  I 
am  glad  you  went,  though,  because  it  is  good  for 
young  people  to  have  their  fling." 

THE  END. 


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By  Shan  F.  Bullock 

"  TRISH  PASTORALS"  is  a  collection  of  character 
J.  sketches  of  the  soil — of  the  Irish  soil — by  one  who 
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many  American  readers  a  new  conception  of  Irish  pas- 
toral life,  and  a  fuller  appreciation  of  the  conditions  which 
go  to  form  the  strength  and  gentleness  of  the  Irish  char- 
acter. (12rao,  $1.50.) 


THE   WESTERNERS 

By  Stewart  Edward  White 

WHEN  the  Black  Hills  were  discovered  to  be  rich 
in  valuable  ores,  there  began  that  heterogeneous 
influx  of  human  beings  which  always  follows  new-found 
wealth.  In  this  land  and  in  this  period,  Stewart  Edward 
White  has  laid  the  setting  of  "The  Westerners,"  a  story 
which  is  full  of  excitement,  beauty,  pathos  and  humor. 
A  young  girl,  growing  to  womanhood  in  a  rough  mining 
camp,  is  one  of  the  central  figures  of  the  plot.  The  other 
is  a  half-breed,  a  capricious  yet  cool,  resourceful  rascal, 
ever  occupied  in  schemes  of  revenge.  Around  these  two 
are  grouped  the  interesting  characters  which  gave  color 
to  that  rude  life,  and,  back  of  them  all,  rough  nature  in 
her  pristine  beauty.  The  plot  is  strong,  logical,  ;  nd  well 
sustained ;  the  characters  are  keenly  drawn ;  the  details 
cleverly  written.  Taken  all  in  all,  "The  Westerners"  is 
a  thoroughly  good  story  of  the  far  West  in  its  most  pict- 
uresque decade.  ( 1 2mo,  $  1 . 50. ) 


BY   BREAD    ALONE 

By  I.  K.  Friedman 

MR.  FRIEDMAN  has  chosen  a  great  theme  for  his 
new  novel,  one  which  affords  a  wealth  of  color 
and  a  wide  field  for  bold  delineation.  It  is  a  story  of  the 
steel-workers  which  introduces  the  reader  to  various  and 
little-known  aspects  of  those  toiling  lives.  In  the  course 
of  the  work  occurs  a  vivid  description  of  a  great  strike. 
The  author,  however,  shows  no  tinge  of  prejudice,  but 
depicts  a  bitter  labor  struggle  with  admirable  impartiality. 
Along  with  the  portrayal  of  some  of  man's  worst  passions 
is  that  of  his  best,  his  affection  for  woman,  forming  a 
love-story  which  softens  the  stern  picture.  The  book 
will  appeal  to  students  of  industrial  tendencies,  as  well 
as  to  every  lover  of  good  fiction.  (12mo,  $1.50.) 


HERE  are  two  volumes  of  mo*t  thrilling  tales,  (/leaned 
from   the   material   which   the  age  has  brought  us. 
Each  collection  occupies  an  original  field  and  depicts  some 
characteristic  phase  of  our  great  commercial  life. 

WALL   STREET    STORIES 

By  Edwin  Lefevre 

TT  would  be  difficult  to  find  a  better  setting  for  a  good 
A  story  than  this  hotbed  of  speculation.  On  the  Ex- 
change, every  day  is  a  day  of  excitement,  replete  with 
dangerous  risks,  narrow  escapes,  victories,  defeats.  There 
are  rascals,  "Napoleonic"  rascals,  and  the  "lambs" 
vho  are  shorn ;  there  is  the  old  fight  between  right  and 
wrong,  and  sometimes  the  right  wins,  and  sometimes — 
as  the  world  goes — the  wrong.  In  the  maddening  whirl 
of  this  life,  which  he  knows  so  well,  Edwin  Lefevre  has 
laid  the  setting  of  his  Wall  Street  stories.  A  number  of 
them  have  already  appeared  in  McClure's  Magazine,  and 
their  well-merited  success  is  the  cause  of  publication  in 
book  form  of  this  absorbing  collection.  (12mo,  $1.25.) 

HELD    FOR    ORDERS 

STORIES  OF  RAILROAD  LIFE 
By  Frank  H.  Spearman 

WHILE  railroad  life  affords  fewer  elements  of  pas- 
sion and  emotion  than  the  life  of  Wall  Street,  it 
offers  however  a  far  greater  field  for  the  depiction  of 
the  heroic.  Deeds  of  bravery  are  probably  more  com- 
mon among  these  hardy,  cool,  resourceful  men — the  rail- 
road employees — than  among  any  other  members  of 
society.  •  •  Held  For  Orders  "  describes  thrilling  incidents 
in  the  management  of  a  mountain  division  in  the  far  West. 
The  stories  are  all  independent,  but  have  characters  in 
common,  many  of  whom  have  been  met  with  in  McClure's 
Magazine.  Mr.  Spearman  combines  the  qualities  of  a 
practical  railroad  man  with  those  of  a  fascinating  story- 
teller, and  his  tales,  both  in  subject  and  manner  of  tell- 
ing, are  something  new  in  literature.  (12mo,  $1.50.) 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


RFC'D  LD-URt 

MAY  15  1979 

MAY  15  19 


Form  L9-Series  4939 


1158  00465  8398 


